Plans
by keru.m
Summary: Third in the series, following 'Conversations' and 'Insights'. Harm has the ring, but it's just not that simple, and then it's just downright complicated.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: This is the 'trequel' in the 'Conversations' and 'Insights' series. I've been toying with this one for a while and I apologize that it took so long to get it out. Time has been scarce. It actually still is and I'm really busy these days so I cannot promise one-a-day postings. Thing is, I don't think I'll have an opportunity anywhere in the near future where I won't be busy. So I'm posting this with the promise that I will not leave the story hanging, but you might not get one-a-day updates. The story is pretty much complete, except for the ending. I'm honestly stumped. Usually reading your comments gives me all kinds of ideas, hopefully this will be the case here, and an amazing idea for the conclusion will come through. Fingers crossed.

This will be like the previous stories in the series, focusing on H&M's relationship. The last story ended around summertime, so the first few parts of this take place in the summer, in the lead-up to 'Legacies'. Some of you will find the beginnings slow, some of you won't. Think of it as an exploration.

**--**

**Plans - 1/20**

JAG HQ

1048 Local

She looked happy, he thought, as he watched her from across the bullpen. She was talking to Harriet and Bud about something – he'd guess little AJ – and she was all bright smiles and sunny laughter. Sure, he'd seen her light up at the mention of little AJ before and he'd heard her wonderful laughter countless times, but this was different. She was ... glowing. She was happy.

He did that. He preened unconsciously at the thought.

That dazzling light in her eyes? All him.

The breeze in her step? Also him.

The extra lilt in her laughter? This guy.

He grinned cockily. He was good for her. He was the best parts of Sarah MacKenzie – she'd told him so.

He laughed, his arrogance now free to strut.

"Commander."

Harm straightened at the sound of his CO's voice, but his grin refused to budge. "Sir."

"You seem to be in a good mood," The admiral cast a none too subtle glance in Mac's direction.

"Yes, Sir." Harm replied, following the admiral's gaze. She really did look good, all tucked away under that uniform. He couldn't wait to get home tonight and peel the marine green off the Marine. It was one of his favourite things to do, divesting her of the clean lines and smooth starch of her uniform to reveal the soft, sizzling, sexy beauty underneath. And all those buttons to unfasten ... His fingers itched at the thought.

"I see."

Harm realized that the admiral was now appraising him with that mildly curious, disconcertingly perceptive look of his. He thought he ought to feel slightly embarrassed given that he was fantasizing about the admiral's Chief of Staff right in front of the man... but come on, he told himself. Look at her.

There she was, her eyes sparkling and her laugh shimmering golden.

Seriously, look at her. He wasn't about to feel embarrassed, let alone sorry. Especially as he knew her toenails were painted fire engine red today. His grin widened.

"...and I informed the SecNav you would be more than pleased to volunteer your services." The admiral's concluding words cut through Harm's idle, extremely agreeable daydream.

Harm stared at his CO, hoping he didn't look as clueless as he felt. What? Had he been talking this whole time?

"Yes, Sir." He replied, hoping he hadn't just volunteered away something too vital.

"Excellent. Harriet has all the details." The admiral said briskly, and then hesitated. With a glance in the general direction of the bullpen, he assumed a conspicuously conspiratorial air and added, "Between you and me, Harm, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

And then the admiral headed back to his office with a bounce in his step that made Harm think he was more preoccupied with thoughts of Dr Walden than with any sympathy for his star lawyer's plight. Whatever that plight may be; damned if he knew.

Just great. And what in hell had he been signed up for? He'd better talk to Harriet.

He headed towards her, target in mind.

To his credit, he was about half way there when his eyes latched on to Mac and then she was all he could see.

"Colonel." He greeted with a smile when he reached the group. He was pretty convinced she looked even more beautiful now than she had that morning. Maybe it was the sunlight? Or maybe the bullpen's colour scheme just complemented her really well.

"Commander." Mac replied. He loved the sound of her voice, how she sounded when she spoke to him. Like she had secrets only he was privy to. Although, when she'd called him Commander in bed this morning, the context had been entirely different...

He realized that Mac looked a bit self-conscious under his stare. Her eyes flitted from his, darting from Bud to Harriet.

"Bud, Harriet." He added in greeting, remembering himself. He pulled his eyes away from Mac.

"Sir." They responded in unison. Harriet seemed to be biting back a giddy smile with all she was worth.

Mac cleared her throat lightly. "Bud and Harriet were just telling me about little AJ's birthday party."

"It's this Saturday. You'll be able to make it, won't you, Sir?" Bud asked with quick eagerness.

"Of course, Bud. Wouldn't miss it." He answered easily. He then remembered his manners.

"Anything we can help with?" He asked, with a slight tug on Mac's collar to include her in the offer.

For some reason, his question was enough to make Harriet's smile burst free.

"No, Sir. Thank you." She replied, "We've got it covered."

"You'll let us know if anything comes up, Harriet." Mac added, though Harm was confused by the pointed, warning frown she sent in his direction.

"Of course." Harriet hastened to assure them. Her smile got even brighter as she looked at Mac, suddenly remembering something. "Oh, I wanted to tell you: you know that photo of you little AJ has in his room?"

Mac nodded, breaking into a mindblowingly brilliant smile at the mention of her godson.

"Well, yesterday when I asked him where Aunty Mac is, he pointed at the picture!" Harriet could not contain her excitement as she shared this recent development.

Mac positively lit up. "He did!"

Harriet nodded proudly, even Bud was grinning away.

Mac grabbed Harm's arm and shook it lightly.

"Did you hear that?!" She asked him, even though she was still looking at Bud and Harriet's beaming faces.

Harm couldn't help but laugh at her reaction.

"Wow." She marvelled, full of awe, oblivious to his amusement. "He's a really smart kid."

"He is, Ma'am," Bud's chest puffed up.

"And he has good taste," Harm offered, with a hint of mischief. Between these three groupies, Harm figured it would be his job as godfather to make sure little AJ was somewhat level-headed.

Mac punched him lightly in the arm, recognizing his teasing. He laughed.

The phone on Harriet's desk rang, effectively breaking up their pow-wow in the bullpen. Harriet excused herself to tend to the phone, while Bud returned to his office. Harm followed Mac to hers.

"Mac is going to be his first word," She informed Harm as they rounded her office door.

"We'll see." He replied. He leaned against the doorjamb, and watched as Mac took a seat behind her desk.

She began flipping through the files on her desk, her attention slowly centering on her work. Her long, slender fingers turned a page, and then tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She had that slight crease in her brow, the one that usually surfaced when she was deep in some thought.

She had really nice skin, he thought. Like warm honey. Or maybe more of an olive tone. Olives were his favourite food. Her eyes were absolutely gorgeous as well. He'd been looking into those eyes a lot more lately, not to mention that those eyes were also looking at him a lot more recently. He grinned. Eyes like chocolate. Dark chocolate – the only kind of chocolate worth having, in his opinion.

"Harm?"

He was startled out of his thoughts by her voice. He focused on her. Had she been talking all this time?

"Huh?"

She was frowning in mild concern as she searched his face.

"Are you alright?"

What a question, he thought, grinning once again.

"Perfect, Mac." He threw her a wink.

She returned his smile, and her eyes glowed with that warm, dazzling light he was responsible for. He cocked his head to the side, admiring it.

"Did you need to discuss something?" She asked, indicating his presence in her office.

You marrying me, he thought.

"What?" She was staring at him, looking a bit self-conscious.

"What!" He jumped. Had he said that out loud? Shit! Moron.

Mac seemed startled by his reaction. Her worry also seemed to increase ten-fold

"I mean, is everything okay?" She said carefully. "You were just staring at me..."

Oh, thank god. His relief made him slightly woozy, and he had to lean against the doorjamb. He hadn't said it out loud. Thank god. He realized Mac was still observing him with a worried interest.

"No. I mean, yes. Yes. Everything is just fine." He assured her quickly, and then repeated for good measure, "Just fine. Thanks, Mac for ... uh..." What was he thanking her for? He couldn't remember and suddenly the ring in his pocket felt inordinately heavy.

"Thanks," He repeated, and threw her a quick, forced smile before returning to the relative sanctity of his office.

Once there, he sank down heavily on his chair.

He took a deep breath. Shit. That was close.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

It was one thing to know he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the woman in the office next to his, that he wanted to marry her and love her and cherish her until he drew his last breath.

It was something else altogether to ask her if she wanted the same with him. It was such a big question. How was he supposed to ask?

How exactly did one broach that particular topic? He had no experience whatsoever.

Tradition dictated a romantic setting of some sort, him getting down on one knee and – as the saying went – popping the question.

But there were a lot of blanks to fill in, weren't there?

Did she want to marry him? To take that step which would mean a change of duty station for at least one of them? Which would also mean spending the rest – as in the entire rest, whatever was left, absolutely all of it – of her life with him?

Rationally, he knew he was being slightly ... silly. He was pretty sure Mac would say yes if he asked. He felt it in her every time they touched, every time she spoke his name.

But still. And she had said that she was terrified of it all ... what if she still wasn't ready?

He'd hoped the moment would just come, he'd just know, and the words would fall seamlessly from his lips – he even carried the ring around with him everywhere he went on the off-chance such an opportunity would present itself. But they'd been back from his parent's place for over two weeks, and the ring was still a weight in his pocket. It was burning a hole through his skin.

Maybe he ought to ask someone ... He eyed his phone. Frank? He glanced at the bullpen. The admiral? Or Bud? He supposed he could ask any one of them. But then someone other than himself would know that he was having technical difficulties with proposing, and that was just plain embarrassing.

Maybe if he dropped hints? Mac would pick up on those. Subtle hints, though. Things like asking her if she wanted a formal church wedding ... or maybe a Naval wedding with all the trimmings ... or just something casual, like a sunset on the beach. He liked that idea ... Mac in a white sundress, the sky blazing, sand between their toes, a saltwater breeze in her hair.

Hell, anything with Mac's hands entwined with his, her deep, gorgeous eyes looking into his, and the two of them promising their hearts and their lives to each other would be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Harm stared out his window.

He just wanted her. To greet every morning with her kiss. To pepper his day with thoughts of returning to their home together in the evening. To spend evenings talking about their day while he made dinner – a healthy, nutritionally balanced dinner – and she wheedled him for an after-dinner walk to the ice cream parlour. To wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of her quiet, even breathing as she slept. To spend the rest of his life discovering her, her beauty and strength, her sharp wit and that sprite of mischief she so often kept hidden from anyone but him. He wanted to be the only man who was ever offered her heart, the only man who was able to reach that inexhaustible wealth of love he was discovering she'd kept so tightly under wraps for such a large part of her life. He just wanted her.

Really, really badly.

If only he had the words to ask her, in the way that she deserved to be asked.

The sharp ring of his phone jarred him from his thoughts. He picked up the receiver, realizing that he hadn't done an iota of work and the day was almost half gone – and wasn't there something he was supposed to ask Harriet? He couldn't remember. Great. Asking Mac to marry him would be for nothing if he didn't still have a job by the time he found the words.

"Rabb."

"Hey, Harm."

"Mac!" Warmth settled over him at hearing her voice. He immediately felt better. "What's up."

"I just, well, wanted to see if you were doing okay. You seemed a bit off when you left my office."

"I'm fine, Mac. Thanks." His smile started somewhere in his toes and reached right to the tips of his hair. He dropped some chaff to dismiss her concern. "I'd just remembered a call I needed to make. I took care of it."

"That's good to hear. You had me worried." She paused to shed her 'office tone' as he'd christened it. "So, Sailor ... Are you still free for dinner tonight?" She was flirting with him in that slightly impish, playful way of hers. He leaned back in his chair and savoured the moment.

"For you, French fry, I'm free for the rest of my life."

There was a slight pause on her end, it wasn't long but it was enough to make him wonder if his subtle hint had all the grace of a jackhammer.

"I love you," Her voice, exquisitely soft and full of promise, drifted through the line. His heart took silent pleasure, even as it burst with wonder, and he treasured this moment, too.

"Always, Mac."

He held the phone to his ear a long time after she'd disconnected the line.

Harm sighed.

Now all he had to do was make sure to keep those hints coming. And then find a way to propose to her. And, most importantly, he had to convince her to say yes.

--


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own'em.

--

Roberts' Residence  
Saturday  
1321 Local

Mac sat on the grass, looking for all the world like she was innocently playing with the birthday boy. But Harm had been watching her closely, and knew for a fact that she was actually sneaking Cheetos to little AJ. He shook his head as he made his way over to the duo.

"That can't be good for him," He took a seat next to her on the grass. He moved to tickle AJ, but the boy was too engrossed at gnawing on his illicit snack to care. He gave Harm an accusing look for attempting to interrupt his fun, and then focussed all his attention on eating.

Mac smiled at him. "Probably not. But he kept taking them off my plate. Besides it's his birthday. He can have a treat," She turned her attention to AJ. "Can't you, big guy?"

AJ looked up at Mac with a wide grin, his teeth and lips and fingers orange. "Mak!"

Mac's eyes widened in shock. She grabbed Harm's arm and shook it violently.

"Harm! He said my name!"

He gave Mac a sceptical look. "He said 'Maa', Mac."

"He said Mac!" She insisted. Her excitement was infectious, causing little AJ to laugh. "Look. Hey AJ, sweetie, who is this?" She pointed a finger at herself. "Who am I?"

"Mak!" He repeated, bouncing up and down, clapping his hands.

"See!" She squealed. "That's me!"

Harm scoffed. "Mac. That's pathetic. Maybe he wants his mom."

She arched an eyebrow in his direction, before turning to AJ.

"Hey, AJ, where's mommy?"

"Mama?" AJ asked, searching the yard. His eyes fell on Harriet, who was standing a few feet away. "Mama!" He clapped for himself.

"Clever boy," Mac praised him dutifully, ruffling his hair. She gave Harm a challenging look.

Harm was not convinced.

"Hey big guy." He said to AJ, "What's my name?"

AJ grinned at Harm, then waved his arms at Mac. "Mak!"

"See!" Mac gave the orange boy a big kiss. "You are so clever!"

"Mak!" AJ repeated. He reached into Mac's plate for another Cheetos.

"See! That is so me!" She was grinning so widely Harm was surprised her face didn't split in two.

"Power down, Marine!" Harm laughed, unable to resist teasing her when she was like this. "And you are not allowed to feed our kids Cheetos."

He hoped that was another subtle hint in his grand scheme to propose-to-Mac-and-have-her-say-yes.

She stared at him, mouth agape, eyes searching.

"What?" He asked, suddenly nervous. Maybe that wasn't so subtle. And why was she looking at him like that? Surely she'd thought of having kids with him before.

They did have a deal, after all.

She opened her mouth to speak and he waited with bated breath for her words.

"There you are, Commander." The admiral interrupted what had the potential to have been the most pivotal moment of his life. "I trust you're ready for this week's presentations. You spoke to Harriet, correct?"

"What?" Harm said, slightly annoyed and not prepared for an interruption from his CO. He looked up to see the man blocking his sunlight. How metaphorically apt, he thought.

The admiral frowned.

"Sir." Harm added, realizing his response could have been construed as rude. He stood up quickly. The sight of a frowning admiral looming above him was rather daunting.

"You spoke with Harriet, didn't you?" The admiral eyed him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

Damn it.

"Of course, Sir." Harm hastened to assure his CO, while trying to sound like he was clued in. "I just need to brush up some on Maritime Law."

The admiral frowned. Not a good sign, in Harm's not-so-limited experience.

"I wouldn't worry about that," He enunciated carefully. Also not a good sign. "I doubt your audience could care about Maritime Law."

"Yes, Sir." What in hell was he doing this week.

"I won't expect you in the office during the afternoon, Monday through Thursday."

"Understood, Sir."

"Very well." He turned from Harm to Mac and little AJ. "Colonel."

Mac stood up as well, bringing AJ with her. He rested comfortably on her hip, still chewing on his Cheetos.

"Good afternoon, Sir." She smiled warmly at the admiral. Big AJ eyed little AJ with amusement.

"Is that what they're feeding kids these days?"

Mac laughed. "Only on birthdays, Sir."

"Very well," The admiral chuckled. "I'll wish him a happy birthday when he's less ... orange. Carry on." With that, he made his way through the rest of the crowd.

Harm and Mac and little AJ watched him go. Harm smiled, wondering when, if ever, the admiral let his hair down. Figuratively, of course,

"You have no idea what he was talking about, do you?" Mac interrupted his musings.

Harms' smile gave way to a frustrated scowl. How the hell was he supposed to have any kind of idea when she kept distracting him? "Damn it." He muttered.

She nudged him with her elbow. "Otnay in front of the idkay." She scolded.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Ateverwhay."

--

Harm's Apartment  
Thursday  
1806 Local

Harm loosened his tie as he walked towards his bedroom. He sighed heavily. At least it was Thursday. He could spend the whole day at JAG tomorrow instead of being carted around to various schools for career day talks. That was what the SECNAV had volunteered him for. Apparently it would work as a wonderful complement to the recruitment commercial he'd been roped into filming. He honestly felt like he was being pimped out by his CO. If one more kid asked him if war really was as cool as it was in video games, he would not be held responsible for his actions.

The phone rang just as he was climbing the stairs leading to his room. With a sigh, Harm did an about-turn and made his way to the living room to pick up the phone. He saw the number on caller ID and only hesitated for a fraction of a second, to his credit, before he dutifully picked up the phone.

"Rabb."

"Hello, Harm."

"Hi Mom." He wondered if she'd ask outright about the engagement ring. She had in every previous phone call. It had become some form of twisted ritual in his mind: she'd ask if he'd proposed, he'd say no, she'd sound disappointed, he'd feel guilty in addition to stressed and nervous at the thought of proposing to Mac. He sighed again. "How are you?"

"Just fine, dear," Came her cheery response. "How are you doing? And Sarah?"

"Alright." He sat down on the couch. "I just got home. Spent the week making the rounds at local career days. It was terrible."

"Poor you." She sympathized, and he felt a bit better. "I actually called with a specific purpose in mind."

So much for feeling better. Here it comes, he thought. She's going to ask about the ring. He braced himself.

"But first..." She began, obviously expecting him to pick up on the sub-text.

"First?" He replied, not giving an inch. He wasn't going to play the role she'd set for him in this ridiculous ritualistic phone call.

She sighed heavily. "You haven't proposed yet, have you?"

It was his turn to sigh. "Mom."

"I'm just asking, dear. It's not like I expected anything when you took the ring. Heavens, I'm sure a lot of young," She paused here before emphatically amending her statement, "I mean, _middle-aged_ men carry around family heirloom engagement rings when they are dating the most wonderful woman in the world without ever intending to propose."

He laughed at his mother's tone of long-suffering patience. She really had perfected it.

"Are you worried about asking, or are you not yet ready?" She prodded.

Harm stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head. "I never realized how nosy you are."

"Dear, you are so tight-lipped if I wasn't nosy I'd never know anything about what was going on in your life."

"I'm working on that," He answered honestly.

"I know," She was smiling, he could hear it. "I'm very proud of you, Harm. Proud of the person you've become."

He felt a bit embarrassed by this praise coming from his mother.

"And while we're on the topic, where's Mac?"

Harm frowned in confusion at her segue; that was hardly the topic they'd been on.

"What?"

"Where is Mac?" She repeated.

"I don't know." He shrugged, his frown deepening at the odd question. "Out. Why?"

"See!" Vindication coated her response."I knew you were pulling my leg about always knowing where she is!"

Oh, that's what she meant.

"It works within a certain distance," He came to his own defence. "I told you that..."

"Bullshit."

"Mom!" He protested, appalled – he'd never heard her swear before – when a slight tingle in the tips of his fingers, a warmth at the back of his neck, caused him to break into a grin. "Actually, she's on her way up."

"What do you mean? Up where?"

"She probably just parked her car or entered the building." He surmised.

"You can see her outside your window." She declared. "Don't pull my leg."

"I am not looking out my window."

"Yes," She insisted. "You are."

He laughed. "Mom. Alright, look. She'll open the door in ... five ... four ... three ... two ... one."

The doorknob turned and in walked Mac.

"Hey, Mac." Harm greeted. Silence was the only response he got from his mother.

"Harm." She was carrying a grocery bag in one hand. She gave him a bright smile. He took the chance his mother's silence afforded to walk over to her and give her a greeting kiss.

"You are pulling my leg," His mother's voice sounded through the line, full of distrust.

"Ask her yourself." He promptly handed Mac the phone, and took the grocery bag from her.

Mac frowned, taking the phone.

"Hello?" She tentatively asked.

Harm set the grocery bag on the counter, watching the smile spread on Mac's face as she spoke with his mother.

"Hi, Trish ... Fine thanks, and you? How's Frank? ... Really?" She laughed. "I bet he loved that ... What?" She eyed Harm with a slight bit of awe. "He did?" She turned a very endearing shade of pink. "Well, um..." She cleared her throat in slight embarrassment and he resisted the urge to hang up on his mother and take Mac to bed.

"He told me the same thing once ... Well, no, I haven't tested him ... What? ... Yes. I did just walk in ... Okay ... No ... Yes ... Definitely ... I won't, thank you ... Of course, I'd love that, too ... You, too ... Bye, Trish."

She handed the phone back to Harm, looking both amused and embarrassed. She might as well get used to it, Harm thought. He was discovering that his mother was a master of evoking that combination of emotions.

"Ha." He said into the receiver. "Told you so."

"Nonsense," His mother replied. "One test does not a theory prove, Harmon."

He laughed, "You'll just have to repeat the test."

"Don't you worry, I will. And Harm."

"Yes, mom?"

"The ring could get scuffed if you carry it around in your pocket all day. Make sure you get it polished before giving it to Sarah."

"Goodbye, Mom." He refrained from rolling his eyes.

She was laughing when he hung up.

"You told your mom you always know where I am?" Mac asked. Her head was cocked to the side as she watched him.

He nodded, and followed up with a slight shrug. "She doesn't believe me, though."

Mac just kept looking at him.

"You don't believe me either," He realized, offended.

"Well," She hesitated. "Honestly I thought you were just kidding around. Being metaphorical, maybe."

He shook his head. "Come on, Mac." He grabbed her hand and tugged her towards him, his hands settling on her hips. "Of course I know where you are. I can feel you."

"That's weird, isn't it?" She looked up at him.

He shrugged. It just was what it was, as far as he was concerned. He'd stopped thinking it weird ages ago.

"I..." She hesitated for a moment. "I can feel you too, sometimes."

"Just sometimes?" He grinned, liking this idea of some kind of supernatural connection with her. It was just like in comic books. Or in the movies.

"Well, you remember how I found Chloe, when she'd gone missing?"

"That psychic connection?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's not call it that."

He laughed at the idea of Mac's über-rational side battling with her supernatural predilections.

"What do you want to call it?"

"A fluke."

"But you can find me too?"

She nodded.

"How far does this go? How often does this fluke work?"

She shrugged. "Not sure."

"Well," He decided to start. "I sort of know when you're nearby. And I can find you in the same building – like at JAG or on a carrier – without really looking."

"Maybe we just know each other well enough to guess at where we'll be at a given point."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Mixed in with some blind luck," She supplemented.

His eyebrow inched higher.

"Or not," She relented. She studied him for a moment. "Did you find this connection got stronger after we ... Well, after we slept together?"

Both his eyebrows shot up at hearing that statement. He couldn't keep the arrogance out of his voice. "Did it for you?"

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Stow it, Sailor."

He couldn't keep the grin off his face. Maybe he had superpowers, too. There was one way to find out...

"We should test it."

"What do you mean?" She frowned. "How?"

"Let's go play hide-and-seek at Rock Creek Park."

She laughed. "Let's not."

"C'mon, Mac. I'll even let you dress up in BDUs. Camouflage print."

"Harm!" She kept laughing.

"I'm serious, Mac," He insisted, even though he didn't think he was. Well, maybe a little.

"Do you really want to test this?" Her laughter ceased, uncertainty taking its place. "Let's just leave it as one of those unexplained things."

"I like answers, remember?" He teased. "You're the one who's fine with open questions."

"You want to traipse around Rock Creek Park, you and me – two fully grown adults – and play hide-and-seek in BDUs?"

He grinned at the image that conjured.

"And maybe..." Her voice lowered, "Maybe we shouldn't tempt fate."

"What do you mean?" He shook his head in confusion. "Tempt fate how?"

"Well, I found Chloe when she was hurt and lost. Maybe we shouldn't take this so lightly." The tone of her voice made him uneasy. He thought perhaps she was taking this too seriously; the worrier in her.

"You going superstitious on me, Marine?" He teased her, trying to erase the anxiety in her voice, the seriousness in her eyes.

She shook her head. "No." Her arms tightened around his waist in a hug, her head on his shoulder. "I don't believe in superstitions, remember?"

"Only in flukes?" He smiled at her stubbornness.

"Only in flukes."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own

A/N: I figure if Harm can quote Robert Browning after he hits his head, he can quote Ezra Pound when he's in full possession of his faculties.

--

JAG HQ  
Three weeks later  
1005 Local

Mac entered her office. This was her favourite time of day in here. Her window faced south-east, so the room would bask in late morning sunlight. It invariably lifted her spirits. This particular morning, something altogether else in the office caught her wonder: a gorgeous bouquet of light pink orchids was sitting in a vase on her desk. Mac stared, breath caught. Heart stumbled.

There was a card resting against the vase, with her name written in Harm's Spartan script. _Sarah. _Her hand, against all reason and despite her best efforts, shook as she reached for the cream envelope. She was being silly, she thought, getting so emotional over a bouquet of flowers.

But this was Harm. Sending her flowers. At work. For no apparent reason.

She would treasure this one moment. Sunlight on pink petals. The subtle fragrance of flowers amidst case files and military protocol. A silent gesture of love in the hustle of everyday life.

She slipped the card out of the envelope, her heart beating in her chest even as she tried to coax it down from its high. Her eyes skimmed over the words he inscribed for her, memorizing them in just one sweep.

_My days are not full enough without thoughts of you._

She grinned, recognizing the line and his play on it. She laughed, holding the card to her chest, looking at the flowers. How absolutely wonderful.

Mac floated around the desk, drifted into seat on her chair, flipped on the computer, a smile on her lips. And while the computer whirred and people shuffled about their work outside her office, Mac stared at the flowers, her smile ever-present.

A soft knock sounded at her door. She looked up to see Harriet enter.

"Ma'am?" Harriet was ready to speak when her attention was caught by the flowers. "Wow." Awe filled her voice. She looked at Mac, a silent question in her eyes. Mac could only grin back.

"The Commander has really good taste," Harriet said, the wistfulness in her voice putting Mac on alert. "They're beautiful."

"They are," Mac sighed in agreement, feeling all squishy inside with giddiness.

"Here's the duty roster for the month, for you to sign off on." She handed Mac the folder, her attention still fixed on the flowers.

"Thanks, Harriet." Mac frowned, wondering what was up with the younger woman. She was usually much more talkative. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Ma'am. Thank you." Harriet said absently.

"And the baby?"

Harriet rubbed a hand over her belly, still looking longingly at the flowers. "Just perfect."

Mac's frown deepened. Something was up ... "I'll have it back to by lunch time," She said, indicating the file.

"Yes, Ma'am." Harriet gave a final, wistful look at the flowers before returning to her desk.

Mac watched her leave, lips pursed in thought. She caught sight of Bud walking by her office and called out to him.

"Bud!"

He halted mid-stride and swung into her office. "Good morning, Ma'am." He grinned in greeting.

"Morning, Bud." Mac returned his smile, but it faded as she wondered how to go about this next bit. Bud saved her any further thought with his next sentence.

"Oh, orchids. You know, Ma'am," He looked from the flowers to her, "On this one episode of Star Trek Voyager, Tuvok once grafted a South American orchid to a Vulcan favinit plant, and the hybrid was stronger than any had been before. It was a metaphor for the strength of alliances."

Bud looked expectantly at her.

Mac stared at Bud. She had no idea what to say to that.

She decided to jump right in, figuring some of what had Harriet looking at the flowers with such longing. This man needed all some help in the romance department. What the hell was a Tuvok anyways. "How's Harriet been lately, Bud?"

Bud frowned. "Fine. I think." He glanced over his shoulder to where Harriet was sitting at her desk, immersed in work.

"Well," He amended when faced with Mac's sceptical silence. "She has been tired lately, with the pregnancy. Little AJ takes a lot out of her. And organizing his birthday party was a lot of work..." He trailed off, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.

"You're right, Bud," Mac nudged him in the direction he needed to go. "She does need a break. Good thinking. You should take her for a night out. I don't mind watching little AJ for you."

Bud looked at Mac, confused by the turn in the conversation. "I, well—"

"Tomorrow works just fine for me, Bud." She gave him a warm smile, "I can be at your place at 1900."

"Uh, okay." He looked about Mac's office as though trying to get his bearings, and then turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and Bud?"

"Yes, Ma'am?" He turned back around to face her.

"Here." She gave him the florist's card which was tucked between the orchids on her desk. "Flowers are a wonderful idea."

"Uh, yes, Ma'am." He left her office, still looking quite dazed, and crossed paths with Harm who was just entering.

"What did you do to the poor man?" Harm asked her, watching the confused Lieutenant cross the bullpen.

"Played Cupid." She grinned up at him. "I have a lot invested in those two."

He grinned back at her. Their eyes locked and the steady hum of the bullpen faded to silence, sunlight shone golden in the tiny office space.

"Thanks for the flowers." She bit her lip, overcome by a sudden shyness. She was being silly, she told herself, but she couldn't help it. This was just so wonderful. She never would've pegged him as a romantic before they started dating. But he was just full of surprises. Endearments and chocolate bars and flowers.

"You're welcome, French Fry." He kept smiling at her, leaning against her doorframe.

And they stood there, ears muted to all sound, eyes only for each other.

A throat cleared heavily, invading their silent bubble. They both visibly jumped, and Mac was dismayed to find the admiral standing behind Harm. She stood at attention.

"At ease," He waved them both down.

Mac sat back down. They really had to stop acting like this when the admiral was around. And he really needed to stop popping up whenever they were caught in a moment.

"Commander," Chegwidden intoned with no small degree of longsuffering impatience. "When you see fit to let the Colonel get back to her duties, would you be so kind as to report to my office to discuss the McTierney case. I realize that our appointment was only scheduled to begin a mere 5 minutes ago, and I would hate to be a thorn in your side, being only a lowly two star, but I do have a schedule to keep."

"Yes, Sir." Harm stumbled in apology, looking even more embarrassed than Mac felt. "My apologies, Sir. I lost track of time—"

"Just –" The admiral shook his head in exasperation. He settled for an eloquent eye-roll. "I don't want to hear it. Report to my office immediately." He turned on his heel and returned to his office, muttering as he went.

"Busted," He grinned at Mac, and winked before following the Admiral to his office, seeming not in the least bit perturbed about the potential ass-chewing he might get.

She smiled, watching him catch up to the admiral in long strides. The smile didn't leave her face the entire workday.

--

Mac's Apartment  
That same evening  
1729 Local

Harm threw some rose petals into the bathtub, feeling a little stupid for even doing it. Except he remembered that drawing a bath with rose water and throwing in rose petals made women weak in the knees. Or so he'd read in one of those issues of Playboy that made the rounds, hidden under mattresses and between textbooks at the Academy. Not that he'd share that with Mac, should she ask.

He was on a mission, and any means necessary was justified to achieve his goal. Even taking tips from Playboy. He'd sent her a massive bouquet of orchids – which the florist had told him turned most women to mush. He'd made her an intensely romantic dinner, and though he usually preferred cooking in his own kitchen, her apartment had a bathtub. He'd even scattered rose petals on the dining table and lit lots of candles. In some ways, if he thought about it, the way he was with Mac was anathema to anything he'd ever even conceived of doing for a woman, of behaving with a woman. Usually just making a date pasta for dinner floored her, made her putty in his hands. He didn't really have to work hard it.

Except he really, really wanted Mac to agree to marry him, and he figured pulling out all stops with this romance business was likely to persuade her. And she was ... different. Special. Just thinking of her brought a smile to his face, a glow in his chest.

He took a levelling breath. He looked down at his clothes, black slacks and a light blue shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Top two buttons undone. It wasn't one of his favourite shirts, but he knew she loved it. Another calming breath. He fingered the ring in his pocket. She would be here soon, and she would take a bath and then eat dinner and then eat dessert and then say yes to marrying him. Knock on wood.

"Harm?" Her voice drifted in from the living room. His heart caught in his throat. Show time.

"Hey, Mac," He crossed the living room to take the vase of orchids from her hands. She rewarded him with a long, slow kiss.

"Mm," She smiled up at him, eyes sparkling. "Thanks," She whispered.

He couldn't find any words through his nerves and his awe of how lovely she looked coming home to him.

"Smells great in here," She eyed the table as she toed off her shoes. "Candles?" Her grin doubled. Her eyes locked on his as she trailed a finger down his neck, between the opening of his shirt.

He laughed at her blatant advances. "Just you wait, Sweet thing. I have a surprise for you. In the bathroom."

Her face folded into a frown. "Bathroom?" She spared him a curious glance before heading into her room.

He set the flowers on the table and followed her.

She was standing at the entrance to the washroom, mouth hanging open as she stared at her bathtub filled with rose petals, lined with flickering candles.

"You..." She turned to look at him, eyes filled with a silent amazement. He grinned, feeling pretty damn confident: he put that look on her face. A few more steps and she'd say yes.

"Get in, Mac," He tilted his chin to the bathtub, "Before the water gets cold. I'll finish up dinner."

A slow, seductive smile lifted the corner of her lips, "You won't be joining me?" It was as near a pout as he'd ever seen her wear. His brain snapped, fizzled, went silent.

He swallowed hard as she walked up to him. Slowly, her fingers started unbuttoning his shirt. She pressed soft kisses against his skin. His eyes fell shut in enjoyment. As a fleeting thought, he knew he was supposed to be doing ... something. She pushed his shirt off his chest, her hands skimming along his bare shoulders. What was he supposed to be doing? It was important...

He opened his eyes to see her slowly stripping out of her uniform, unsnapping each button one by one, her eyes fixed on his, inviting, teasing. As if by instinct, he took over the task of divesting her of clothes, unable to think beyond the image of her nude in a tub full of warm water and rose petals and him.

Anything else could surely wait.

_Later..._

Harm held Mac as she slowly faded to sleep, nestled into his chest and a tangle of bed sheets. He couldn't blame her. He could barely see straight himself. He grinned: sex just kept getting better and better between them. He wondered if it would change once they were married—

Shit.

The ring was still in his pants pocket. Damn it. Harm groaned in frustration. And where the hell were his pants? Probably still in the washroom.

He completely forgot. He was supposed to romance her and propose, and instead she'd looked at him with that ... that look on her face and all thought had fled from his ridiculously single-minded brain, and he'd let her distract him not only in the bathtub but then in bed. Twice.

Harm closed his eyes. Damn it. How was he supposed to top a vase full of flowers, a bath with rose petals and a candlelit dinner – a dinner they hadn't even eaten because they'd gotten too caught up in the bath and then the bed.

Harm sighed. Now what? It would take him a long time to come up with a plan as good as this one was ... He felt her shift slightly in her sleep, nuzzle closer into him. Her warm breath fanned his skin.

It's okay, Hammer, he smiled into the darkness; she's worth it.

As a last thought, he wondered if Playboy had published any new tips since his Academy Days...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

Harm's Apartment  
1930 Local  
Friday, Two weeks later...

Harm was sitting on one of the stools by his kitchen counter, reading a book as he waited for Mac so they could head out for dinner. She'd stopped at her place on her way home from work to check her mail since they'd spent this week at his apartment.

In truth, none of the words in Harm's book were registering. He was still, two weeks later, trying to recover from the abject failure of his master plan to propose to Mac. He thought maybe he'd just wait for the right moment: he'd feel it when it came. Maybe preparing with elaborate set-ups wasn't the way to go. He'd wing it...

He looked up at the sound of Mac fumbling with the door to his apartment. The door swung wide open to reveal a grinning Mac.

"Look what Frank sent me!" She held a rectangular box in her hands, very much like a pirate might hold war booty.

"What is it?" Neither his mother nor Frank had mentioned anything about a package to him.

"A branding iron!" She set the box on the kitchen counter beside him, pulling open the lid. "It has my initials on it!" She pulled it out to show him, her smile bright enough to blind. "So I can brand my own steaks!"

"A branding iron?" He sought clarification, certain he had misheard.

"With my initials!" She repeated.

She looked like a kid holding the branding iron, so full of a giddy, uncomplicated excitement that it took a supreme effort of will on his part to keep from collapsing into a heap of laughter.

It was all for nothing though, because her eyes narrowed. "Don't laugh at me, Rabb." She warned.

That was the proverbial last straw, and he almost fell off his stool as he gave into his laughter, erupting into loud guffaws. Crazy meat-eaters.

"You don't even own a barbeque, Mac!" He said between waves of laughter.

"I'm going to buy one this weekend," She was half-scowling, half-frowning at him. He just kept laughing – he really couldn't stop – which made her huff. "And you're not invited to help me pick it out."

"You don't cook!" He thought he ought to point out the obvious.

"Frank gave me tips when we visited." She looked from him to the branding iron, and back. "It's can't be that hard. You can do it," She added, as though that were all the empirical evidence she needed.

He leaned back against the counter, wiping the tears from his eyes, still breaking into sudden fits of laughter.

"I was going to brand you a salmon steak," She accused, sulking. "But now I changed my mind."

He started laughing again, so hard it gave him a stitch in his side.

"Whatever," She huffed. She turned on her heel to walk away, but he reached out an arm and grabbed her just in time. He pulled her into his arms.

"You are something else, Mac." He looked up at her.

She stood rigidly within his arms, and tried to move away. He ignored her, hugging her tightly.

"I love you, French fry." He'd learned what it took to thaw her stubborn anger.

As predicted, she melted completely, wrapping her arms around him, whispering into his hair, "I love you, too, Harm."

He smiled, arrogance patting him on the back. Way to go, Hammer.

"But you have to stop making fun of my branding iron." She warned.

He broke into renewed laughter.

"Oh, stop already," She muttered, but she didn't move out of his embrace. He calmed down after a few minutes, and tried to look apologetic.

"I'm not laughing at you, Mac ... it's just ... a branding iron?" He couldn't stop the chuckles that escaped.

She sighed, and perched herself on the stool next to him. Her fingers ran the length of the iron, tracing her initials. "Frank's really a good person. He's very sweet."

Harm had to agree.

"You know," Her tone was pensive, "The last time my dad gave me a gift was on my sixteenth birthday."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. "What did he get you?"

"It was the first birthday after my mom left, so the first anniversary of her leaving..." She trailed off into her thoughts, and he waited for her to come back.

To his surprise, she broke the silence with a laugh and a soft smile. "He got me a teddy bear. You know, one of those stuffed animals. Didn't know what to get a girl my age, I guess. I was just blown away that he remembered, especially since I was so busy forgetting. He left it on my bed." Her smile faded. "I never knew how or when to say thank you. He was never sober enough to hear me when I was sober enough to say it; and I was never sober enough to tell him when he was sober enough to hear it. Deep down, maybe neither of us really wanted to talk about it."

He decided he was going to throw her the biggest damn birthday party ever this year. No, better yet, he'd take her to Gram's for her birthday – full with a homemade cake and enough food for her to drown in. And gifts. Lots of gifts.

She kissed his chin suddenly and stood up with decisive purpose, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Stores are still open, Flyboy. Want to help me buy a grill?"

He grinned, "Only if I get a branded salmon steak out of it."

"Deal." She was beaming. He was going to thank Frank himself. Why hadn't he let himself see the man behind his stepfather all these years?

She put out a hand, and he gladly took it to stand up.

"You are going to take the branding iron with you, right?" He teased. "It wouldn't do if the grill didn't match your only accessory."

She whacked him on the six with the iron, though she was giggling. "Next time, Rabb, the iron won't be cold when I do that."

He laughed as he watched her head towards the kitchen to put away the branding iron. Although, he thought, branded by Sarah MacKenzie ... he could think of worse things. As long as the brand came in the form of a wedding ring on his left hand.

--

Hardware Store  
Friday  
2003 Local

"This is a good one," Mac commented, eyeing a foldable grill. "We could use it on the roof."

"Better than using an electric grill on your balcony," He started saying, but was distracted by something that caught his attention. His eyes went wide, his jaw dropped. "Mac!" He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the tools section of the hardware store, across the aisle. "Look at that drill!"

"Drill? What on earth..." She pulled her hand out of his grasp and tried to protest, but he clearly wasn't listening to her. He was too busy falling in love.

"You think they'll let me test it?" His excitement was reminiscent of AJ's rapture with Cheetos.

Mac could only watch in amazement as Harm walked towards the power tools in a trance-like state. She'd thought that thing about men and hardware stores was a false stereotype.

"Harm!" She called after him, but he was blissfully oblivious. Mac rolled her eyes. Fine. She'd just pick out her own grill. She headed back towards the one she'd been eyeing earlier. Living in an apartment meant no grilling on her balcony, but the roof did have a makeshift courtyard where she could set up her grill. A portable one might be best for that reason. And then they could even carry it around to parks and the like for picnics.

"That's a great BBQ for smaller spaces."

Mac looked at the man who'd addressed her, and who was standing next to her.

"You're looking for a small grill, too?" She asked him.

He grinned, the light in his eye much like the one Harm had been sporting when she'd seen him last heading towards the power tools as if pulled by a superhuman gravitational force.

"Actually," He told Mac with barely suppressed excitement. "I'm upgrading. I just moved to a suite on the top floor of my building, huge balcony. I'm finally allowed a grill. I dream about that one," He pointed towards a gargantuan, rather menacing looking grill. "But I'll likely get that one," He pointed to a more modest and much friendlier looking grill.

"It's probably for the best," Mac advised. "That first one looks like it could eat you."

He laughed. "First time buyer?"

Mac nodded. "I'm learning to appreciate the art of grilling."

"That's a good model," He indicated the foldable grill she'd been considering. "I have one of those for picnics, days at the beach... that kind of thing."

"You'd recommend it, then?" She read through the specs on the grill, even though they meant nothing to her. She wondered what Frank would think of this one.

"Mac."

She turned at the sound of Harm saying her name in a proprietary tone she hadn't heard from him since the Mic fiasco. He was eyeing her grill advisor with a surprising degree of hostility.

"Hey, Harm." She tried valiantly to nip his adverse reaction in the bud. "This gentleman was saying he owns a grill just like this. Recommends it."

"Harm." He held out his hand to the stranger, sizing him up. Mac frowned at his antagonistic behaviour.

"Garrett." The man took Harm's hand, but was quickly distracted by the box in Harm was holding under his arm. "Is that a Makita drill?!"

Harm lit up. "The LXT BDF 451! Four-pole motor, 18-volt lithium battery, three speeds, 560lbs torque," He lifted the box for viewing, practically gushing with pride.

"How heavy?" Garrett was apparently as excited by cordless drills as by mean-looking grills.

Mac could smell the testosterone. She shook her head and decided she shouldn't bother trying to get Harm's attention back to the issue of buying a grill.

"4.6 lbs!" She heard Harm tell Garrett as she headed off to find a sales associate. She'd do this on her own.

Half an hour later, she returned to find Harm and Gareth in the exact same spot, now discussing electric saws. She was gratified when Harm broke off mid-sentence just as she approached them. At least she wasn't still invisible to him.

"Where did you go?" He asked, frowning with curiosity.

"I bought that grill," She pointed to the grill on display. "We have to go to the storeroom round back with the car to pick it up. I also got a grill set and," She dug through her shopping bag and pulled out her prized purchase, grinning with satisfaction. "A camouflage apron!"

Harm and Garrett both looked at her for a moment, before Harm burst into laughter. Garrett smiled, looking both confused and amused.

"Great meeting you, Garrett," Harm shook his new friend's hand. "Here's my card. Call me when you want to come out and get your hands dirty on Sarah."

Mac hoped Harm was referring to his biplane.

"Great!" Garrett enthused. He turned to Mac. "Have fun with the grill."

"Thanks," She smiled at him. "Enjoy yours, too."

"C'mon, Sweet thing," Harm took the bags from Mac and led her towards the cash so he could pay for his drill. "You owe me a steak."

"Made a new friend?" She teased as they walked, still marvelling at his 180 from hostility to amiability when Garrett complemented his tool.

He grinned. "He's a good guy. Flies a Cessna – 400 Corvalis TT," His eyes glazed over with admiration.

"That's amazing," Mac replied, even though she had no idea what he'd just said.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Are you humouring me?" He asked, still smiling.

"Of course not," Her expression was pure innocence. "And thanks for all of your help in picking out the grill."

He laughed sheepishly, "Well, I, uh...." He looked at the box in his hand. "I needed a power drill."

"Right," She shook her head. "Can I take you to the grocery store to pick out your salmon steak without you ditching me for the first person who starts talking greens with you?"

"Get the car, Smart Alec." He wryly raised one eyebrow.

"Are you sure I can leave you here all by yourself? What if you get distracted by the self-flushing toilets?"

He heaved a long-suffering sigh as he silently succumbed to her teasing. Mac laughed delightedly; she could have such fun with him.

--

Mac's Apartment  
Sunday  
1304 Local

Harm sat back comfortably on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He divided his attention between the documentary on wolves playing on television, and Mac. She was working on the Sunday crossword, her feet drawn up on the couch, her head resting on his lap. She was idly petting Jingo with one hand, the crossword puzzle resting against her legs.

His fingers absently played with her hair while he listened to the narrator explain wolves' mating rituals. He was waiting for the documentary to get to the good stuff: hunting in packs.

"Hey," She said, nose still buried in her paper. "U.S. president after Grant. Five letters."

Harm went through the presidents in his head. "Hayes." He replied.

"Way to go, Flyboy." She scribbled down the answer.

"I'm not just a pretty face, you know." He teased.

"And barely that, as it is." He arched an eyebrow at him.

"Funny." He tugged on a lock of her hair before turning his attention back to the documentary, which was now following a pack of wolves closing in on their prey.

"Oh, I meant to ask you." Mac said suddenly, looking up at him from her vantage point on his lap. "Frank sent a card with the branding iron, but there's something in it I don't understand."

"What?" Harm looked down at her. "What does it say?"

"Well, of course that he hopes I enjoy the gift, but he signed off by saying that if I was ever looking for investment tips, or wanted to revise my portfolio, that I shouldn't hesitate to let him know."

Harm looked down at Mac in confusion. Her expression mirrored his, which made him smile.

"Frank offered you investment advice?"

She half-nodded, half-shrugged. "I wondered if it was just normal, if that's what he usually writes in greeting cards."

Harm frowned in thought. "Well, he did set up a trust for me when I graduated from high school."

She cocked her head as she looked at him, eyebrow raised as it usually was when she wanted to make a point. "That was nice of him."

He grinned at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. "That's an understatement, Mac," He tapped her nose. "But I appreciate your tact."

She laughed, knowing he could see right through her.

"Anyways," He said, shaking his head at her in amusement, "He's offered to have someone manage my investments a few times, but I haven't taken him up on it."

She gave him that look again, her eyebrow inching even higher, and he had no choice but to kiss that upside-down-exasperation right off her face.

When he was sure he had kissed it away and replaced it with something much more pleasant – plus a few seconds for the sake of indulgence – he pulled away. She was smiling up at him, amused, and he knew she could see right through him, too.

"It's not like I have investments, Mac." He said to defend himself.

"You should." She exclaimed, surprised.

"I'll have my pension." He shrugged. "And I have assets."

"A military pension is all good and well, but you can't predict the future. And Sarah is not enough to retire on. Besides, it never hurts to have a nest egg."

"I do have that trust. What about you? Talking from experience, here?" He teased.

"I am, smart ass. Growing up with most of the only source of our family income keeping the local booze store in business made me see the value of investing part of my paycheque."

He wondered if a wedding ring would count as investing part of his paycheque. He wondered if she'd say yes if he asked right now. Or would his lack of an investment portfolio make him bad husband material?

"So are you going to talk to Frank?" He said instead.

"I'm not going to impose," Mac shook her head. She frowned in thought. "He probably just said it ... well, I don't know why he said it."

"Mac." He wondered if her opinion on Frank had somehow been formed through his own attitude towards his step-father. He hoped not. "Frank wouldn't offer if he didn't mean it."

She eyed him, unsure. He realized that maybe it wasn't just Frank she was unsure of.

"I promise, Mac. He, mom and Gram would never say something unless they meant it." He didn't think he'd convinced her. "Would your Uncle Matt say something he didn't mean?"

"Never." She responded unequivocally, without hesitation.

"Same goes, Mac."

"But you're their son. I'm just..."

"The most important person in my life, Mac. Talk to Frank."

She still wasn't convinced.

"Think about it." He offered.

"I'll think about it." She conceded, and then picked up the newspaper.

"Good." He gave her a full smile. He liked this, just sitting here with her, doing nothing with her. A lazy afternoon, comfortable in each other's company. He could see them like this years from now, her head on his lap, their dog sitting on the rug. Or maybe even a kid. Whichever.

And then it hit him with sudden clarity.

This was it. The moment. This was the moment. He could feel it. The moment he was meant to ask her to marry him.

"Mac." He cleared his throat.

"Hm?" She asked, her attention once again occupied by her puzzle.

He wished she would just look at him. His palms were starting to sweat, his heart was beating furiously. He swallowed heavily and he would have loosened his collar except he was wearing an undershirt so that would just be silly.

"Mac." He took a deep breath, and she must've noticed his sudden nervousness, because she looked up at him in question.

He stared at her, his words caught in his throat. Oh, this was not going well.

"Did you know wolves mate for life?" The words tumbled from his lips; it wasn't what he meant to say.

Her frown deepened, and she glanced at the TV. "Well, according to that," She nodded at the TV screen, "The male can mate polygamously if he's unrelated to the female or prey is plentiful," She pointed this out conversationally, already turning back to her paper.

"Oh." This wasn't going as he'd thought it would. Now what?

"Black vultures, though are a different story." She said, perusing the crossword clues.

"They mate for life?" Maybe there was hope.

"Nope ... well not quite. But they do discourage philandering. All nearby vultures attack any vulture caught straying."

He wondered if she was trying to tell him something, but she just sounded like she was doling out trivia that was never handy unless she was watching Jeopardy.

He decided to try again to direct the conversation where it was supposed to go.

"I'm monogamous."

That didn't come out right.

"Serially monogamous." She said absently, not removing her eyes from the paper.

"What?" He thought he should be offended, but he wasn't sure.

"Serially monogamous." She finally put down the paper and looked up at him. "You've had multiples mates, just one at a time – at least so far as I've known you. Hence: serially monogamous."

This was going horribly wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. Time to change the subject and regroup.

He looked up at the TV. "Ooh. Look at that wolf attack the deer."

She turned to watch the TV screen just as the wolf in question leaped at a deer, jaw open wide. At the last possible moment, the deer jumped down a slight embankment, and disappeared in a thick thicket of trees, while the wolf lost its footing and howled in frustration.

"Poor guy." Mac commented.

Harm decided he could relate.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't even own my surplus labour, let alone this.

--

Mac's Apartment  
Thursday, Two weeks later...  
2032 Local

"Harm! That tickles."

"If you stopped moving," He said, clamping his hand around her ankle. "It wouldn't tickle. Now sit still."

Mac couldn't help her grin, or the amusement she was extracting from the turn her evening had taken. She'd known Harm would be late coming home from work, so she'd treated herself to a nice, long bath, and had buffed her feet in preparation for painting her toes. She'd been sitting on the couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table, all set to begin applying Harm's – and her – favourite colour, when he'd walked in the door.

The moment he'd laid eyes on her, sitting with nail polish in hand, his greeting smile had died on his lips. He'd instantly whipped off his coat and shoes, and pretty much ordered her to wait while he changed his clothes.

"Don't start. I'll be right back." He'd said, dashing to the bedroom.

"What? You want to watch?" She'd teased, confused by his behaviour. "Kinky."

Little had she known.

He'd emerged from her bedroom in her favourite sweatpants – her favourite because they hung deliciously low on his hips and were so incredibly soft – and a t-shirt. He'd proceeded to pick her up, deposit her on the coffee table, and take up her spot on the couch. She'd been too surprised by his moving her around like a piece of furniture to do anything but comply.

He'd grabbed her foot, placed it on his lap, and had taken the nail varnish out of her hand, looking for all the world like a kid in a candy shop. Or, for that matter, himself stepping off a helo onto the deck of a carrier.

So now she was sitting on the coffee table, her foot on his lap, while his head was bent in serious concentration as he painted her toenails. Would wonders never cease.

This was a first for her: having any man she was involved with, let alone Harm, painting her nails. She couldn't decide if it was amusing or arousing or just plain odd. He'd been rather clumsy at it initially, getting enough varnish on her skin to convince her she'd need to redo the job later that night, once he was asleep. But he'd insisted on starting over. Twice.

Luckily, she could be patient.

He moved his hand to adjust his grip on her foot, his fingers sliding over her instep. It really did tickle and she tried not to move, but her foot squirmed in his lap.

"Harm! That really tickles!" She exclaimed.

He looked up at her, shaking his head, wagging the nail polish brush at her. "Quit squirming." He berated her. "You move more than AJ does when he sits on my lap."

"I'm not sitting on your lap." She pointed out.

"And I won't let you again if you keep this up."

She laughed outright at that weak threat. "Ha! I'd outlast you and we both know it. You'd be begging me to come back." She squirmed her foot for effect.

He grinned, and with another shake of his head returned to his task.

She brought her elbow to her knee, resting her chin in the palm on her hand, and settled in to watch him. He was concentrating so hard. It was all very cute. She grinned. If anyone knew Harm wanted to paint her toenails ... No one would believe her.

With a final flourish, he pulled back to admire his work. She couldn't look away from the expression on his face as he softly blew over her nails to help them dry. Definitely arousing, she decided.

"I never would've pegged you for having a toe fetish." She commented, knowing she'd get a reaction out of him.

He raised his eyebrow, and looked at her with that patented expression he wore whenever she'd hit the mark with her teasing.

Jackpot, MacKenzie. She grinned smugly.

"I was just curious." He defended. "I do not have a toe fetish."

"Sure you don't." She made a point to look at her foot which was still in his lap, red toenails and all, and then at his hand which was still holding the nail varnish. Deliberately, she returned her attention to his face.

He rolled his eyes, and dropped his gaze to her toes, his hand caressing her calf.

"It's not a fetish." He repeated absently, more intent on tracing a path from her heel up to the back of her knee. "I was just curious. And they just look nice in this colour."

This was as endearing as it was strange. She took the nail varnish from his hand, and placed a kiss on his palm. She looked up at him as her lips pressed against his skin, and found him watching her in that way that made her heart skip beats. Before she could act on it he frowned, breaking the moment, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

"What about you?" He asked.

"What about me?" She mirrored his frown, not following.

He indicated her foot still on his lap.

"How about I return the favour?"

She couldn't help herself. "You want me to paint your toes, Sailor?"

He laughed, and moved to grab her.

"Harm!" She put her arms out to stop him. "My nails! They're still not dry!"

He stopped moving, and glanced down at her toes. He then sat back on the couch smiling, and put a hand out for her.

"C'mere." He invited.

She took his hand, gingerly standing up mindful of her toes, and settled down on the couch between his legs. She propped her feet up on the coffee table and leaned back against him.

This was nice.

"So?" He whispered in her ear, putting his feet up on the table as well. "Any fetish you want to share?"

She smiled at the picture his large sock-clad feet made resting on either side of her naked ones, toenails bright red.

"I thought this wasn't a fetish?" She wiggled her toes for emphasis, and was rewarded with a low chuckle.

"C'mon, French fry." He kissed her ear. "There must be something."

"Nope." She shrugged. "Nothing comes to mind."

"I don't buy it." He challenged.

She turned her head on his shoulder to look up at him.

"Really." She insisted.

He eyed her for a moment. He shook his head. "No way. There must be something you've wanted to do, to experience."

She turned her attention back to their feet on the coffee table. She couldn't think of anything...

"I just like being with you." She shrugged again, her hand idly caressing his arm.

He tightened his hold on her, kissed her hair. "Me too."

He was silent for a heartbeat. "But there must be something."

She laughed at his persistence.

Well, there was one thing, though it wasn't really a fetish.

"I wear your clothes to sleep when you're out on assignment. Or when I am." She offered. Her face felt hot as soon as she spoke. She told herself it was not because she was blushing.

He didn't say anything at first.

"Are your toes dry yet?" He asked unexpectedly.

She frowned. "Almost. Why?"

She turned her head to look at him, and was met with his eyes, dark and full of promises. She bit her lip, suddenly aware of every part of him that was touching her. Ah, that's why.

"I didn't know you did that." He said, looking intently at her.

"I miss you when you're gone," She whispered. "Your clothes smell like you, like your bed sheets."

He made a sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan, his eyes falling shut. His reaction stirred tendrils of desire in her. She pushed herself up slightly and kissed his neck, her hand reacquainting itself with just how soft his sweatpants were.

"You're all I can think about those nights when you aren't with me." She murmured against his skin. "I always want you. So badly. To touch you," Her tongue darted out for a quick lick. "Taste you."

He stood up abruptly, bringing her with him. "Your nails are dry," He announced, his voice rough. He dragged her behind him to her bedroom at full march.

She was thoroughly enjoying the effect her words had on him and wondered at the possibilities this presented. But all such thoughts came to a sudden halt when, halfway to her bedroom, he dropped her hand and whipped his t-shirt over his head, mumbling something to her over his shoulder about not wasting time to get to the good stuff.

She could do nothing but nod in silent agreement, admiring the incredibly mouth-watering view of his back, his perfectly shaped torso giving way to those soft sweatpants that hung dangerously low. God, she loved him, but looking at him like this was something else altogether. She'd never been this physically attracted to a man before, hadn't thought it possible, the way love and want and a need so thick it clogged her lungs could all converge into a dull throbbing of anticipation every time she touched his bare skin, every time she looked at his naked form, smelled his scent on her.

She tugged on his hand, pulling him back. He turned, eyebrow raised in question but before he could say anything, she wound her arms around him, drawing him into her. Her mouth sought his in a kiss that conveyed just how much her entire body hummed when he was near, ached for him when he wasn't.

His hands were in her hair, on her back and then on her six, lifting her up against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, while he turned them around, pinning her against the nearest wall.

She kissed his neck and jaw, one hand traveling over his chest, down his abdomen, following a line from his belly button beyond the waistband of his pants.

He buried his face in her neck. She heard him mumble something and did her best to listen when she so busy feeling.

"I think I found your..." He moaned, and she felt him tighten as her lips and her hand found its mark. "Oh God, Mac." He took a moment to savour her ministrations, and she couldn't think beyond the distance that separated her from him.

"I think," He continued between breaths, biting down lightly on her shoulder. "I think I found your fetish."

"Mm," She answered, more intent on wishing he'd stop talking and start taking off her clothes.

She felt him smile into her shoulder, amused no doubt by her current lack of interest in words. She swirled her tongue around the hollow of his throat, and felt his body pulse for her, each heavy tremor echoed by hers.

"You," He moved from her shoulder, up her neck and sucked her earlobe between his lips. She moaned with pleasure.

"You like it when I," His lips were back on her neck, his tongue hot and wet on her skin. "When I strip for you, French fry." He pressed her back against the wall, one hand wandering to the fly of her jeans. Then his lips found hers; he finally stopped talking and started getting to the good stuff.

_Later..._

"We didn't make it to the bedroom." She rested her forehead on his shoulder, where they sat outside her room, wondering if she'd ever be able to breathe normally again.

He grinned, also catching his breath. "Bedroom? I'm surprised I'm still alive, sweet thing." He tipped her chin up and leaned in for a deep, slow kiss before pulling away. "If I'd known that taking off my shirt would have you jumping me and doing ... this," He waved a hand between their naked bodies. "I would've stripped for you right there in the rose garden when we first met."

Mac leaned back slightly, her legs still wrapped around his waist, her arms around his shoulders, her six settled firmly on his lap. She was too content, too sated at the moment to be bothered by his teasing. Sex had been great in their relationship from the get-go, but what just happened was ... "I love you."

His smile was slow and sweet. He tapped her nose with his forefinger. "I love you, too."

She dropped her head against his shoulder once again.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "That was..." She trailed off, not really having the words to express this to him.

"I know," He whispered into her neck. "It was."

She lifted her head to look at him, liking how he looked sweat-slicked with his hair a complete mess. All because of her.

"Mac. Sarah." His use of her given name compelled her to pull back and focus on him fully. He looked so serious.

"Hmm?" She ran her fingers over the worried crease in his brow. "What is it?"

"I was thinking that maybe you and I..." He fumbled, searching her face nervously. "That is, we ... uh, we could ... or rather, we should, I mean if you want..."

She frowned. What had him so tied up in knots, and now, after a mind-blowing session against the wall outside her bedroom?

"What, Harm?"

He was quiet for a moment as he looked at her. He raised his hand, his fingers tracing a path along her cheek, over her lips.

She kissed his fingers, like she hadn't been able to do in times past when he'd touched her this way as only a friend.

"We should get off the floor." He said, a slight smile spreading. She sensed it wasn't what he'd wanted to say in the first place.

"Are you okay?" She was close to worrying.

His smile widened, looked more genuine.

"Yeah. Yeah." He kissed her again, and she was all ready to move on to round two in the bedroom. "Perfect."

She watched him as he set about untangling their limbs and clothes, wondering what that was about. There were times when he seemed so distracted, some thought holding him hostage ever since their return from his mother's. She thought it had to do with Frank, or maybe with this new layer to his relationship with both his mother and stepfather. He would talk about it in his own time, she reminded herself, and in the meanwhile she'd try and reinforce his deepened relationship with his parents as much as she could, and not worry about shadows she couldn't see the source of.

Especially not when things were so good between them. She smiled, unable to stop herself. She'd never been this happy in a relationship before. It was such a wonderful feeling. And so terrifying. She hoped it lasted. It had been six months, and they were so much closer, she loved him in ways she didn't know possible. And yet she didn't know if they would move beyond this. What did Harm see when he thought of a future for them? Did he see a future for them? She didn't know how to ask. And what did she see for them? She didn't even know, didn't dare allow herself to go there. It was easier not to think about it.

Harm was putting his clothes back on, so she gave herself the task of seeing if she could make him remove them once again. It was something to distract her from her thoughts.

"Harm?"

"Yeah?" His voice was muffled as he pulled on his t-shirt.

"Want to see if we can make it to the bedroom this time?" She raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"You're on." He immediately whipped off his t-shirt, and gave her his best grin.

She watched him strip off his boxers in rapt fascination. Okay, so maybe he had found her fetish. And as for the stuff she couldn't see: she wouldn't think about it.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Just playing.

A/N: This here takes following the stuff that happened in Legacies – mainly Harm's found out he has a half-brother named Sergei. I figure I've built enough of a relationship between Harm and his mom and step-dad to justify a slightly different reaction. I also think I've developed Harm's character enough to justify a different reaction, not to mention his relationship with Mac is quite dissimilar from the one he had with Renée (shudder) at this point. I'm not going to write out what happened in Legacies for purely selfish reasons (I found even trying tedious and dull), so this here picks up two weeks after Mac and Harm return from Russia. You can pretend whatever happened there happened here, with the exception of the status of Mac and Harm's relationship, and the complete absence of Mic and Renée.

--

Harm's Apartment  
Wednesday  
1805 Local

Mac waited, both impatient and worried, as the elevator in Harm's building made its slow climb to his floor. She'd barely been able to keep her head on straight at work today, too busy with her concern for Harm. She'd known that the news of his brother's existence would take time to sink in; she'd just hoped it would have been a gradual sinking in so she could at least help temper the worst of it. Instead, he'd returned from Russia armed with his new sibling's contact information and a glowing disposition that had thoroughly confused her for the last two weeks.

Following his reaction to the discovery of Jenny Lake, she thought he would've been more troubled than happy finding out that his father had a son and a ... lover? Wife? She didn't know what exactly to call the relationship between Sergei's mother and Harm Sr., but the woman had obviously been very important to Harm's father. Maybe Harm had figured that enough time had passed since his father's disappearance to justify his relationship with another woman, the existence of another son.

All Mac knew was that she was poorly equipped to understand Harm's reaction. Since their return, he hadn't talked about Sergei beyond giving her updates following his weekly phone calls with his younger brother. She'd thought that given his newly burgeoning relationship with his mother and Frank, he would've reacted ... well, differently.

Mac sighed. Little had she known that she wasn't too far off the mark: she had found out only this morning that Harm had been avoiding calls from his mother. Trish had tried to get in touch with him at work, and dialled Mac's extension when she couldn't reach Harm. Since their visit to La Jolla, Mac knew Harm had made a point of calling his mother at least once a week, and yet he now hadn't spoken to her since their return from Russia.

And then she'd found out that Harm had taken today off from work. He hadn't mentioned a thing to her last night – they'd spent the night apart since she felt she'd been neglecting Jingo too much recently, and Harm had mentioned something about ... come to think of it, she couldn't remember what his reason had been for spending the night apart. They rarely did that anymore, usually going to either of their apartments.

The elevator dinged, pulling Mac from her musings. She made her way to Harm's apartment, hoping that this didn't end in a major fight. The last time some major event had shaken Harm's life – Jordan's death – they'd both handled it badly. She promised herself not to walk out if he got mean or distant, which he sometimes did when he was hurting and reluctant to show it. And she wouldn't push either, just let him talk if he wanted, let him set the pace, as she'd been trying to do since their return from Russia.

At his door, she debated knocking instead of using her key, and immediately berated herself. They'd get nowhere if she knocked on his door whenever she wasn't sure if she would be welcome. So she used her key to unlock the door, and stepped into his apartment.

The lights were dim, his apartment even cooler than usual. He was sitting on the couch. A few empty bottles of beer were standing sentinel on his coffee table. He was holding a picture in his hands.

"Hey," She said softly, worried she'd startle him. He turned his head slightly to look at her, his eyes dark with emotion. She walked towards the couch, waiting for him to rebuff her. When no protest came, she sat down next to him.

"Missed you at work today," She eased them into conversation. "Did the day off do you good?"

"Mom called last night," He said slowly, as though she hadn't spoken, as though speaking to himself. "Left a message because I haven't called her in a bit..." He reached forward to press the play button on the answering machine, which Mac hadn't noticed was on the coffee table instead of its usual spot on his desk.

"Harm, darling," His mom's voice cut through the heavy silence. "Nothing important. It's been a while since we last spoke, and I wanted to make sure all was well. Frank says hi, and he'll be in touch with Sarah – something about her portfolio. I swear, that man offers investment advice like Gram bakes cookies. Now, don't work too hard, dear, and call me when you have a chance. Take care of you and give Sarah my love."

The machine clicked to silence. Mac looked at Harm, confused. He was staring at the picture in his hand. It was the one of Harm as a child seated in a cockpit, his father standing beside him. She smiled at the look of innocent happiness on his younger self's face.

"You look like him," She ventured, affection for the man beside her softening her voice.

"Yeah." His answer was noncommittal. She could see the hurt in him, the little boy who couldn't quite grasp the way of the world, how dreams sometimes ended where reality began.

She brushed her hand over his cheek. "You're a good man, Harmon Rabb."

He didn't respond.

She ran her fingers through his hair. His eyes fell shut with a sigh.

"I don't know, Mac." His hand dropped, the picture hanging limply in his grasp. "Anything."

She just listened, waited.

"I don't ... Sergei's this link to my dad, you know."

"I know."

"But, my mom ... she..." His voice cracked.

"I know," She whispered, her heart aching for him, for Trish.

He turned to look at her, the intensity in his eyes made her pulse thrum, put her on her guard. She couldn't breathe.

"I would come back to you, Mac." His words were measured, and trembled with restrained grief. "No matter what, I would do everything I could to come back to you. I wouldn't stop trying."

No. This was the last thing she wanted him to torture himself over. She was quick to intercept.

"Harm," Her fingers didn't cease in their ministrations, "Don't do this to yourself—"

"No, Mac." He caught her hand in his, "I'd do everything, anything," He spoke in a fierce whisper, conviction chained to his every word. "To come back to you."

The tears in his eyes, the way he was looking at her filled her throat and drowned her heart.

"Harm," She wrapped her arms around him. "I know, sweetheart." She told him what he needed to hear, and wondered how to tell him that she wouldn't expect it of him. And yet, this was so characteristic of who Harm was. She was sure he wouldn't stop, wouldn't give up no matter how temporarily, no matter if it was expected.

He pulled her onto his lap, buried his face in her neck, and just held on. "I wouldn't give up, Mac."

"I know." She felt his tears hot against her skin, and shut her own eyes tightly.

"He moved on, Mac. He moved on. He let go and I couldn't. All this time..."

"Sergei doesn't mean he moved on, Harm," She said softly, trying to soothe.

"Then what?" His voice shook, with anger or grief she couldn't tell. "What?"

"We can't imagine what he went through, Harm. All those years imprisoned, we can't know."

"I know. I know." Repentance thickened his words.

"He loved you and your mom."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and her heart constricted as fresh tears fell on her skin. She ran her fingers through his hair, rubbed his back, and wished she could climb inside him and just take all the pain away.

"How am I going to tell her?" He whispered. "I don't want to be the one to tell her."

She tightened her hold on him.

"Better me than someone else, right?" He was trying to convince himself. She smoothed her hand over his tear-stained cheeks.

"That doesn't make it any easier for you."

He shook his head, face still buried in her neck. "But it's my responsibility. My ... duty."

"No, Harm. It's not." She assuaged, but she was so incredibly angry at this moment, at Harm's father for putting him through this. Rationally, she knew it wasn't his father's fault. But she hated he was hurting so much. "You're not responsible, not for any of it. It's okay for this to hurt."

He shook his head more vigorously. "No. No, it's not okay."

She hugged him tighter. She fought her own tears at his distress, at his stubborn refusal to acknowledge that he could feel like this. All she could do was hold him, put all her love in her touch, and offer him comfort for as long as he'd let her.

Minutes passed in silence, until she felt a slight shift in him as he collected himself. She loosened her hold, but he didn't move from her embrace.

"I'll have to go tell mom in person." He said, his voice practical, erased of hints of grief. "I'll ask the admiral for some time off and book a ticket. Head over for a weekend."

"That's a good idea." She nodded, and wondered if she should offer to go with him. Better not. It was a private affair, and Harm wouldn't want his hand held. Even more rarely would he acknowledge needing anyone's support.

He released his hold on her, hastily wiping his eyes, looking anywhere but at her. She could've smiled at his embarrassment, he was so ... himself at times. He cleared his throat as he straightened his clothes.

"You must be hungry." He said, fumbling for something to say to cover his unease. He looked at her, his eyes slightly red. She'd never really seen him cry before, beyond the tears in his eyes when he'd finally learned of his father's fate. It was true, she thought, what people said about love. What she felt for him, it couldn't be put into words.

She decided to take his lead, knowing he would see letting out his stress as he had just done as a weakness on his part.

"A bit." She acknowledged. "What about you? We could go to that noodle place on 19th," She offered, knowing that Tofu Pad Thai did for him what ice cream did for her, knowing also that he'd feel better if he got out. Especially since she guessed he'd been cooped up in his apartment all day.

He nodded briskly. "Alright. Sounds good." He stood up. "Why don't you change? I'll just ... freshen up." He said uncomfortably.

"Sure." She stood up as well, and made her way to the bedroom. He caught her hand before she got very far. She turned to find him looking down at his feet.

"Mac." He looked into her eyes for a moment before looking away. "I, uh..."

She was charmed by his uncharacteristic awkwardness, and stepped towards him. She put her hands on his shoulders and stood up on her toes to kiss him.

"Always, Harm."

He grinned at her, a slow unfurling of affection, and pulled her into a tight hug.

"How about ice cream after dinner?" He asked. "My treat."

She nuzzled into his shoulder, admiring his courage in facing his mother with this, aching for his hurt, thinking she had never loved him more. "How could I refuse an offer like that?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I wish I owned it.

A/N: FYI - I won't be posting the next chapter until at least Sunday.

--  
La Jolla, CA  
Thursday  
1706 Local

He waited for his mother to answer the door, all the while resisting the urge to run after the cab that had brought him here and race right back to the airport.

She pulled the door open, and her face lit up with surprise and excitement.

"Harm!" Trish pulled him in for a big hug. "It's so wonderful to see you! What a surprise! Is Sarah with you?" She pulled back to look at him. In the space of a heartbeat, her smile disappeared and a mild panic immediately set in on her features. "What is it? What's wrong – is it Sarah?"

"No," He was quick to assure her, "Mac's fine..." He swallowed. "I just came back from an assignment ... in Russia..." The look on her face made him lose his words.

"This is about your father." It was a statement. He watched the mask settle over her, the one he used to see her wear so much when he was younger.

"Why don't we sit down?" He led her into the house, his arm around her shoulders. "I'll make us some tea." He was hedging, he knew.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" She tried to joke, but it came out sounding strained.

He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, and was about to set the water to boil when she grabbed his wrist.

"Harm." It was her no-nonsense tone, "I don't want tea. Just tell me." Her entire body was rigid, anticipating something terrible.

He hated having to be the one to tell her, hated that he was even here. He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed in DC and ... and, what?

He took a seat on the chair next to hers.

"I was on assignment in Russia. I met a soldier in the Russian Army, Sergei Zhukov. He ... he knew dad."

Trish eyed Harm warily. "Knew him how?"

Harm cleared his throat. "When dad escaped from the Siberian Gulag ... he ... well, he was taken in by a Russian woman."

"I don't understand." Trish frowned, looking confused. "You've already told me this."

"Sergei was ... is the woman's son. Dad, he..." Harm floundered. He couldn't do this.

"What, Harm?" She smoothed a hand over his cheek, her expression now one of concern. "Honey, it's okay."

He shook his head. "No, I mean..." Just get it out, Hammer. "Sergei is dad's son. With the woman. From there..."

Trish's hand dropped from his face. She searched his eyes, disbelieving. "Are..." She shook her head, cleared her throat, her voice shook. "Are you sure?"

"Sergei had a picture of dad." Harm stared at his hands, because he couldn't bring himself to look at her face. He shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have told her. Why was he dredging this back up for her ... "His mother is the same lady who showed me where dad was buried. She told me how he died. How he always looked towards the horizon..."

He kept staring at his hands, until he realized that his mom wasn't saying anything. He glanced up at her, wary of seeing what she was thinking. Her jaw was clenched taut. He couldn't tell if it was out of anger, or to keep the tears at bay.

She rubbed her fingers against her temple, and he realized that she didn't know what she was feeling either.

"C'mere, Mom," He pulled her in for a hug, holding her tight. She held him as well. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a connection with her. For the first time as a conscious thought, he wished to connect with her over something other than their separate bonds with his father, her husband.

"You're crying," He whispered, feeling her shake slightly, hearing her tears.

"I'm overwhelmed."

"I'm sorry."

She pulled back abruptly, her eyes rimmed red, teary.

"You are not apologizing." She was firm, again that no-nonsense tone.

"But—"

"Not buts. You are not apologizing," She was scolding him now.

He didn't know how to respond, how to explain.

"We weren't married for very long, you know," She said, suddenly far away in thought.

"Six years is a long time."

Her eyes fixed on his. She shook her head.

"He was deployed for half of that. Every time he came back..." She trailed off, and he watched as her sadness turned distant. "It was so wonderful. He made me very happy, Harm. That's what I'm going to remember." She said that last part for his benefit, he knew.

"You make it sound so easy." He was almost resentful. How did people forget each other like this? Build lives, build futures on the shifting grounds of an unresolved past?

Tears welled in her eyes,

"It's not," She shook her head, another tear fell loose. "It's not."

He heard her pain, and immediately felt guilty and inadequate. He couldn't understand any of this.

"Harm," She cupped his jaw. A strength steeled her words, and they trembled under the weight. "Darling. I don't want you feeling bad about this. Not for me."

"But mom..." He wondered if she was putting up a front for his sake.

"Harm. I spent a lot of time wondering what he was doing, how he was doing, where he was. If he was hurt, dying, dead. And now I know. I know where he is. I know how he spent that time after his plane went down. I know that he didn't die lost, abandoned. I can't pretend it doesn't still hurt. I think it always will, but time puts everything into perspective."

He studied her face, and was satisfied that she was being honest, if exaggerating. His admiration for her strength took him by surprise. He held it between his fingers, studied it, let the light glint off its imperfect form. All those years ago he thought she was dishonouring his father's memory by moving on. Only now was he seeing a new side to her, uncovering what he'd let sit in shadow. He supposed it was due to the benefit of time and his own cobbled path through life. And hindsight.

"You're incredible." He told her.

She looked at him in surprise.

"I don't know how you can ... How..." He struggled to find the right words.

"I had help, Harm, support. I still do." She rubbed her thumb along his cheek. "And I let the people I love, who love me, be there for me. You. Nana and Papa, before they passed. Grams. Frank."

He nodded, his thoughts drifting to Mac who was two and a half thousand miles and three time zones away, missing her.

--

La Jolla, CA  
Thursday  
1916 Local

Harm waited as the phone rang, waiting for her to pick it up. He was sitting in the living room, staring out the bay windows at the beach. But all he could see was her face.

"Harm," Her voice floated through the line, a balm to his frayed emotions. "Hey."

He collected himself so he could answer.

"Hey, Mac."

There was a short silence on the line. He knew he should say something...

"How'd she take it?" She finally asked, hesitant and concerned.

He sighed, thinking of his mother. She'd excused herself to her room right after their talk. He could understand her need to be alone. "She put on a tough front, but I know her. She's hurting."

"That's normal."

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of her voice. He didn't think he'd ever missed a woman the way he was missing her. "I know. Doesn't make it easier."

"It doesn't." She agreed, then hesitated. "How are you?"

Terrible. "Alright."

"Harm, sweetheart..."

He felt a flutter of wings, feather-light over his heart when she called him that. He quickly blinked back the sudden emotion that blurred his sight. He shut his eyes.

"Sarah..." To his dismay, his voice cracked. So much for being a paragon of strength.

There was the barest of pauses on her end. "I can be on the next flight."

"No, Mac. You don't have to..." But how he wished she would. He should be stronger than this. "I just ... I just..."

"Next flight, Harm." She said firmly. "You do not have to do this alone."

He didn't know what to say. The idea that he didn't have to ... That he didn't want to do this alone. It was too new to him to make sense of.

"Only if you want me, Harm." She said, her voice soft and, he thought, tinged with worry. "I don't want to impose or ... or crowd you. But you don't have to do this alone."

"I..." He took a deep breath. Maybe this would be a form of strength too. "I don't want you getting into trouble with the admiral...." It was a lame excuse, and blatantly transparent. But he just couldn't bring himself to ask outright.

"I'll be on the next flight," She said decisively. All he could hear in it was assurance, a promise.

He let out a deep breath, already anticipating her arrival.

"Okay." He said, his voice rough with his attempt to sound normal. "Next flight."

He struggled to find a way to thank her, not knowing how to do so.

"I ... I'll pick you up at the airport." He told her. "You should pack a sweater. It can get a bit cool here in the evenings."

"Okay."

"And make sure to forward me your flight details."

"I will."

He held the phone to his ear, not saying anything, and listened instead to the sound of her breathing across the line.

"I miss you." He said.

"I love you." She replied.

--  
La Jolla, CA  
Thursday  
1958 Local

Frank walked up the stairs and towards their bedroom. He'd run into Harm downstairs in the kitchen, and was surprised and pleased to see his son. It was a wonderful surprise, except that Harm had seemed more sad than anything else. He pushed the bedroom door open, and found Trish sitting on the bed, staring into space.

Strange, he thought. With Harm stopping for an impromptu visit, he thought she would want to spend every moment she could with him.

"Evening. I just found Harm in the living room. Was he on an assignment nearby? He told me Sarah will be down on the first morning flight..."

He trailed off at the lost look on her face. It seemed she hadn't even noticed his entering the room. He made his way to the bed, sat down beside her.

"Trish? Honey?" He took her hand in his, rubbing it gently. "Are you alright?"

"Harm fathered a son." Her voice was detached, calm. Distant.

"What!" He exclaimed, appalled. And furious. "Does Sarah know?"

"No," She shook her head slightly, "Not that Harm."

"Then wh–" He stopped as the pieces clicked into place. Although this made even less sense, "You mean your first husband?"

She nodded. "Harm found out a few weeks ago."

He put a hand on her knee, not exactly sure if she wanted comfort or ... actually he had no idea what to do.

She quickly stood up and began pacing.

"It shouldn't bother me." She was impatient with herself, angry at something; he wasn't quite sure what. "For god's sake, I got married. But it does. It does bother me."

"When did this happen?" He asked carefully.

"After he escaped."

"That's a long time," He truly had no idea how she could even begin to process this, nor whether he should be comforting her, or letting her rant.

"I know." She gave an impatient shake of her head. "Like I said, it shouldn't bother me..."

"It's okay for you to be bothered by it, Trisha," He soothed.

"How can you say that?" She turned on him, now most definitely angry.

"He was your first love. And you spent a lot of time hurting over him, worrying about him. And it hurts to know he..." Frank hesitated, worried of further upsetting her.

She looked at him, her lip trembled, she broke into tears. "Oh, Frank."

He stood up quickly and pulled her into his arms.

"This is all so confusing." She buried her face in his neck. "I feel like ... I don't know how to feel."

"That's probably normal," He reasoned, "You just found out. Let it sink in a bit."

They stood in silence, and he held her. He turned his face to settle in her hair. He loved the way she smelled, how she felt. He would be forever grateful for what he'd found in her. He had spent more time than he would admit to worrying her first husband would return, wondering what she would do if he did.

"I love you, Frank. You know that."

"I know, Trisha, honey." He kissed her hair. "I know. "

She tightened her arms around his waist, breathed in deeply, a move she often made when gathering her composure.

"How is Harm taking this?" Frank asked, now better understanding why Harm had looked the way he did downstairs.

"He's upset."

"Understandable." He thought of Harm's fixation with his father. "You know how he gets when he's determined."

"Obsessed, you mean," She mumbled. He heard a smile somewhere in there.

"It probably hurts to think his father didn't invest the same in coming home, as he did in trying to bring his father home." Frank sighed. Sometimes, all he could see when he looked at Harm was that lonely, angry little boy who shielded his heart behind his single-minded drive.

"I think he's more upset for me, than anything else ... I didn't do a very good job in figuring out how he's taking all this. I was too worried about myself," She said with disgust.

"Hey, now. Don't be so hard on you." He rubbed her back. "Will he be staying?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "The weekend, I think he said. I should probably sit him down for a proper talk before he leaves.

"Honey, it's okay to feel whatever you are feeling."

She nodded.

"I love you, Trisha."

She nodded again, and he held her.

"Frank."

"Hm?"

"Did you say Sarah was flying in?"

Frank nodded.

"Wow," Awe in her voice this time. "He's letting her?"

Frank nodded again, couldn't help the burst in his chest. "I'm proud of him."

She looked up at him, smiling through her tears. "I know. Amazing; that he agreed to her coming."

"She's good for him."

"She is. Wonderful."

"Daniel looked over her portfolio." He informed her, referring to his financial advisor. "She has a sound investment plan, as well. Smart girl."

Trish laughed, "Frank, you are something else."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Not mine

--

LAX  
Friday  
0850 Local

She was leaning against a large pillar, her bag by her feet, her eyes searching the airport lobby. His heart rose to his throat. He didn't know how to react to that. He'd never felt this way before, felt so strongly about a person that just seeing them made the worst of his guilt, the most scathing of his regrets seem conquerable. He thought of the look on his mother's face. He thought of the concern Frank had shown him this morning, the genuine worry in his stepfather's eyes.

_Are you alright, son?_

He hadn't known what to say, so he'd simply nodded. Frank had then taken a seat next to him on the couch, not saying anything, just sitting with him until it was time to head to the airport to pick up Mac.

And here he was, watching Mac as she searched for him in the crowd. He had years' worth of amends to make to his mother and Frank, he knew. He had disliked his mother and hated Frank. He'd held them against the shiny image of his father, polished clean with years of blind adoration.

He was a terrible person. He hated himself for it, and right now what he needed more than anything was to see the light in Mac's eyes whenever she looked at him. He needed to see himself the way she did.

She straightened when she caught sight of him. Her face drawn with concern. She pushed herself off the pillar, slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking towards him. His attention fixed on her as he moved to meet her; shoring strength from the love he could see in her eyes, from the way her body was tuned to his. He just needed to touch her, to hold her. But he couldn't trust himself to do that here, in the antiseptic anonymity of an airport lobby. He couldn't trust himself to not simply break down in public the moment her arms wound themselves around him and her lips touched his.

He stopped suddenly when she was arm's length away. His eyes dropped to her bag, seeking a distraction from the thick broil of hurt and sadness and relief.

"Here," He put a hand out, feeling awkward and off balance. "Let me take your bag. Mom'll tear into me if she hears you carried it yourself," He joked, trying to lighten the tension, to put himself at ease. He felt so off-kilter, and seeing her made him simply want to find a hiding place inside her, somewhere warm and familiar where it didn't hurt so much whenever he thought of his parents. He swallowed heavily and tried not to look her in the eye, not trusting what his reaction would be when he did.

"Hey," She said softly. He took a deep breath at the sound of her voice, felt the thin threads of his control fraying. "Come here." She held out her arms, taking a step towards him.

He closed his eyes, still not understanding the strength of his reaction to her presence. He didn't care, he realized. He just wanted her comfort. He quickly folded himself into her embrace, his face in her neck. He took slow deep breaths through his nose, savouring her scent and the warm familiarity of her skin.

"It's alright, sweetheart." She whispered, her fingers weaving through his hair. "It's okay."

And he thought just maybe, it might be.

--

Burnett Residence  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday  
1103 Local

Mac stepped out onto the back deck, into the warm California sun, set to go for a morning run. She caught sight of Trish sitting on one of the deck chairs, staring out at the ocean.

"Good morning, Trish." She greeted.

Trish abruptly turned towards Mac, startled out of her thoughts.

"I apologize," Mac said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Not at all, Sarah." She smiled a tired smile. "Just gathering wool. I'm sorry I wasn't able to greet you when you came in."

"It's no problem, Trish, please."

Trish only nodded, her attention again fixed on the distant horizon.

Mac sat down on the neighbouring deck chair and started tying her shoelaces.

"Going for a run?"

Mac nodded, glancing at Trish. "Thought I'd fit in a quick run before lunch. I feel a bit stale after the plane ride. Harm's taking a nap."

"Thank you, Sarah."

Mac looked up, surprised.

"For helping Harm find his father, for being there for him through this..." Trish explained.

"I wouldn't know how to do otherwise," Mac answered honestly. "He's my greatest friend. I only hope to be as much to him as he is to me."

Trish smiled. She reached over and patted Mac's hand. "You are. Don't doubt it."

She hesitated, stared out at the ocean, looking older than Mac remembered.

"You know, in all those times I wondered what Harmon was up to, whether he was lost or imprisoned or heaven forbid had passed, I never once conceived of him falling in love and fathering a son."

Mac moved to say something that could alleviate the woman's apparent grief, but Trish waved a hand stopping Mac before she could interrupt. "Dear, he was not the kind to just sleep around with women unless they held a place in his heart."

Mac didn't know what to say to that.

Trish looked at her. "I suppose I must face this."

"He loved you. You made each other happy." Mac told her carefully, still not sure of her way around Harm's family. She sometimes felt all this human relationship stuff was uncharted territory, and she could only navigate by feel. "Harm showed me the picture of you two, from when you were pregnant. That's a rare thing to find with someone."

Trish stared at Mac for one long moment – all of seven seconds – and then turned her attention to the shore, where the waves swallowed the sand.

"Part of me wishes I'd never known." She finally said.

"It's better to know." Mac answered with utmost conviction. This was familiar territory for her, without a doubt. "We build spectres out of the people in our pasts, paint them as devils or saints. We forget that in the end, we're all human. That doesn't make the people we love mean any less to us; it doesn't mean they hold any less of our heart."

Trish studied Mac thoughtfully, head cocked to the side. Mac tried not to feel nervous. At times, Trish's mannerisms echoed Harm's in a way Mac found disconcerting. It was familiar, yet not.

"Your parents?" Trish finally said.

Mac nodded, not really surprised by Trish's intuitiveness. She wondered how much Harm had told his mother about her. It was her turn to stare at the waves crashing against the sand.

"It was easier to see my parents in black and white, but I lost a lot of myself in my anger and hurt towards them. I'm finding that they were, well, far from either extreme. It's not easy to have to face that; it makes things much more complicated. But I'm finding myself too, through the process."

Mac took a long, slow breath. She hadn't even realized it was all true until she said it out loud. She didn't think it would still hurt after all these years, a dull ache burnished by wear.

Trish moved to sit next to Mac on the deck chair and, to Mac's surprise, wrapped her in a hug. What surprised Mac even more was how Trish's warm embrace made her, of all things, miss her mother's touch.

"I'm so happy Harm met you, Sarah," Trish whispered as she held Mac. "You are a treasure to us."

Mac could do nothing but return Trish's hug, at a loss for words, for thought. "Thank you."

Trish pulled back and cupped Mac's face. She smiled. "Go on for your run, darling. You have exactly 56 minutes before lunch is served. Consider it a test of your sense of timing Harm goes on about."

Mac nodded, thrown off kilter by the affection she was being shown, overwhelmed by the warmth. This was all so unfamiliar. "Yes, Ma'am."

She stood up and, with a final self-conscious wave over her shoulder at Trish, jumped down the deck stairs. Mac set off at a quick clip down the beach, letting the full weight of Trish's words sink in. _A treasure_. She was awed. That incredible woman, someone's _mother_, and not just anyone's but _Harm's_ mother, thought she was a treasure. Even as she told herself not to let a string of words mean too much, told herself not to read too much into it, Mac grinned; she laughed; she wiped the tears from her eyes. She couldn't explain this wonderful, amazing thing she was feeling. She didn't know what it was, but for her entire run she had to fight the childish impulse to just start skipping and jumping, resist the urge to kick the sand with her toes and feel the saltwater waves foam around her ankles.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Not mine

Burnett Residence  
La Jolla, CA  
Friday  
1140 Local

Harm walked onto the deck in search of his mother. He found her standing by the table, setting places for an early lunch. She seemed far away in thought.

"Hey, mom," He kissed her and gave her a hug. He was worried about her but didn't know what to do about it. "Morning."

"Good morning, darling." She favoured him with a smile and patted his cheek. Harm studied her for a moment before deciding it was genuine. She looked much better than she had last night.

"You look good," He said as he turned to folding the napkins.

"Thank you. Did you sleep well?" She asked. It was her turn to study him carefully.

"I did." He said. Sharing a bed with Mac did wonders for him. But that wasn't something he was about to share with his mom.

"Good." She paused, fiddling with the forks on the table settings before looking directly at him. "Harm, promise me you will not worry about me."

He looked at her, startled. "Mom—"

"No, Harm. Really. It is not your job to worry."

His gaze dropped to the ground. How could she ask that of him? She put her hand on his arm.

"Look at me, darling."

He reluctantly obeyed, and was met with her muted resolve and the silent strength he'd come to admire.

"Harm, I'm happy. I'm doing well. A part of me will always hurt at your father's loss. When you found him, I grieved again as if it were the first time—"

He was quick to interrupt; he hadn't known, "I'm sorry I put you through that—"

"Harm," She said firmly. "You are not allowed to apologize for that. That grief is something I carry with me; it is not your fault anymore than it is mine. And I wouldn't trade all the good memories we shared, I wouldn't trade the wonderful son we made together for anything." She cradled his face in her hands, and repeated emphatically, "For anything, Harm."

He nodded. He would try to believe her.

"Thank you for telling me." She said.

His eyes widened with disbelief. "You're thanking me?"

"I know this was hard for you," She told him. "And this time you came to tell me in person."

He felt a twinge at remembering their phone call, when he'd finally found out his father's fate. He hadn't been able to come tell her in person, not wanting to relive all that pain, preferring to get through it alone as he'd done most his adult life.

He thought of Mac, and of the hug he'd shared with his mother yesterday. How things changed.

"I know learning that your father..." She searched for the words that would maybe make this easier, "Well, that his having lived a life apart from us hurt you, but I don't want you to be angry with him about that."

"He stopped looking, Mom." Harm replied, the words spilling out before he could think about it. He hadn't expected his mother to be so forgiving.

"You don't know that, darling." She soothed. "I can't blame him for making a life for himself anymore than I can blame myself."

He pulled away from her touch, taking a step back and putting his hands on his hips. "That's just it," He said impatiently. "I was such a jerk to you and Frank. I was terrible to you. And I thought dad ... I mean, he ... he..." Harm shook his head, unable to even look at his mother. "I shouldn't have done that to you."

"Is that what's bothering you?" Trish looked at him in surprise. "Harm, Frank and I don't hold anything against you."

"C'mon, Mom. How could you not?"

"How could we? You went through the kind of trauma no little boy should experience." She replied. "Frank understood that. He never wanted to replace your father, Harm. He only wanted to be your friend."

He wasn't convinced. "It's not like I gave him much of a chance. He should hate me."

She laughed, to Harm's surprise, her eyes filling with warmth. "Well, I guess Frank is just more stubborn than you are."

He couldn't help but grin at his mother's sense of humour. He shook his head, still not ready to forgive himself, whatever his mother might say. He was also uncharacteristically nervous about talking to Frank about all this. Where would he start?

"Harm," His mom put her hands on his waist. She looked at him with a mix of affection and exasperation. "You're spoiling for a fight again. Remember: some things can be simple."

"But how do I apologize for so many years of being a complete asshole?" He asked. Immediately, his eyes widened in horror at his less than stellar language.

"Sorry," He said contritely.

Trish just grinned up at him. "I've heard worse from you, boy." She said with mock sternness, before turning serious. "Frank doesn't need an apology, Harm."

"But I need his forgiveness," Harm replied. He looked towards the far end of the shoreline, deep in thought. He smiled slightly at the flitting warmth of awareness that brushed over the back of his neck.

"What?" Trish asked at his sudden change in demeanour.

He nodded towards the distant figure jogging along the shoreline. She was barely discernable from where they were standing.

"Who is that?" Trish followed his gaze, squinting against the sunlight.

"Mac."

Trish moved to the edge of the deck and stared hard. "It is not. You can't tell if it's even a woman from here. It's barely a dot."

"I told you I always know where she is," He said smugly.

His mother turned around and looked at him, battling between incredulity and wonder.

"You're pulling my leg."

"Would I do that?" He crossed his arms over his chest, all arrogance.

She shook her head at him, turning back to look at the figure. She was closer now; it was most definitely Mac. His mother's jaw dropped.

"Well I'll be..." She trailed off. "That is remarkable."

He grinned. "It is."

"You know," She said, looking at him again. "She is remarkable, too."

"She is," He nodded. He could sense where this was going.

"Have you done anything with the ring?" She asked. His mother, Harm thought, the master of subtlety.

"I got it polished," He replied with a grin, wilfully obtuse.

"Harmon Rabb Jr.," She berated, "Don't mock your mother."

He laughed.

"When will you ask her?" She went back on point.

Harm sighed, toeing a groove in the wooden floor of the deck. "When the time is right." He repeated the stock answer he'd been telling himself since his last visit to La Jolla.

"And when would that be?"

"I'll know," He said, more to convince himself than anything.

"So all these months, the time has not been right?" She persisted.

"Oh, look," He said quickly, pointing towards Mac who was now a dozen meters away. "Here comes Mac. We'd better finish laying the table."

His mother only rolled her eyes. "Right. Changing the subject will definitely work with me." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I wasn't born yesterday, Harm."

He didn't say anything, but he did wish Mac would run a little faster.

"Just do it before I'm too old to enjoy grandchildren." His mother said before heading back to the kitchen to check on breakfast.

He watched her go, and then turned to admire Mac as she jogged towards him. She looked radiant, he thought.

"Morning, Flyboy." She called to him with a smile that blew him away. More than radiant, he decided; she was positively glowing.

"Morning, Marine." He greeted. He waited as she climbed the steps, and then reached for her. She sidestepped him with an easy grace.

"I'm all sweaty, Harm!" She protested.

As if he cared.

He grabbed her, and pulled her in for a hug. "I happen to like you all sweaty." He said, holding her close, enraptured by the sparkle in her eyes. There was something different about her. She looked somehow ... lighter.

She opened her mouth to reply when her eyes darted over his shoulder, and she blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Uh, Trish," She stuttered. She quickly untangled herself from his embrace, and shoved Harm away from her.

Harm laughed at how red Mac was – he'd never seen her blush this ferociously before. He turned around to see his mother standing at the door with a towel in her hand and a wide grin on her face.

"Here, Sarah." She handed Mac the towel. "You can get some of that sand off before you head inside to shower."

"Yes, Ma'am," Mac fell back on formality in the face of her embarrassment. She took the towel from Trish with only fleeting eye contact. Harm looked at his mother over Mac's head, and caught her wink. He grinned, eyeing Mac who was still blushing. This, he thought, opened up a whole new avenue for teasing the hell out of his Marine.

"Need help showering, Mac?" He asked solicitously. "Sand can get in all sorts of hard to reach places."

She glared at him, her blush deepening. His grin widened.

Trish laughed. "Harm," She said, "Make yourself less of a nuisance to Sarah, and come help me in the kitchen."

"Yes, Ma'am," He mimicked Mac's earlier reply. It earned him another death glare. He winked at Mac before following his mother into the house.

That was fun: He finally got in the last word.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: Hey, all. I realize I've been pretty silent on the author's notes, but I've honestly been crazy busy and squirreling away time just to put the posts up. So let me take the time now to thank you for your reviews, I am so pleased that you are enjoying this. You make writing and posting these stories incredibly rewarding.

--

Burnett Residence  
La Jolla  
Saturday  
1448 Local

"You look nervous." Mac commented to him as he was getting dressed. She was sitting on the bed flipping through a book on contemporary American artwork Trish had put in the room.

"I do not." Harm protested. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked perfectly normal. He may have felt slightly nervous, but it did not show.

She studied him for a moment. He could see the indulgence in her gaze. "Okay. You don't look nervous. But it is okay if you are."

He sighed deeply as he buckled his belt. Time to move this along. "Have you seen Frank?"

"He's in his study."

"I shouldn't disturb him." Harm said immediately, relieved to have found an excuse to put this off.

"You wouldn't be disturbing him." She replied. Her full attention was on him, the book forgotten. She was frowning in worry, but her eyes held her confidence in him.

He looked away. He felt a bit ... lost. Apologies weren't his thing.

She moved off the bed, standing up to face him. With a warm smile, she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him gently.

"Thanks, Mac." He said quietly, returning the hug, savouring her touch. A few moments of silent enjoyment later, he told himself he shouldn't put this off anymore. He kissed her forehead, and then her lips.

"Alright." He looked in her eyes for reassurance. Not that he needed any, "Here I go. Wish me luck?"

"Good luck." She said, smiling up at him.

"Good luck," He repeated.

--

Harm knocked on the study door, and waited for Frank's response.

"Come in."

He pushed open the door and found Frank sitting in one of the leather armchairs by his bookshelves.

"Hey, Frank." Harm hid his nerves as he'd been trained to do. "I hoped we could talk."

Frank looked up in surprise, but waved Harm over to the chair opposite him without hesitating. "Of course, Harm. Anything to drink?"

Harm thought chugging a bottle of whiskey straight up would be just the thing right about now.

"No, thanks. Maybe later." He rubbed his palms over his pants and took a seat.

"Frank," He began, looking his stepfather in the eye. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, but he knew he was projecting the outward image of calm. Or so he hoped. He didn't know what to say to the man sitting across from him.

"Harm, wait." Frank folded his newspaper and set it on the table, giving Harm his full attention. "You and I, we've had a ... difficult relationship. I won't deny that. But you don't need to say anything. All I ever wanted was to make your mother happy and give you a home."

Harm felt even more ashamed. He was having a hard time telling Frank he respected him without actually saying the words and ripping open a time in his life he'd always tried very hard to forget.

"I shouldn't have been so unforgiving towards you, Sir," He settled for a respectful appellation.

Frank smiled affectionately. "Frank is fine, Harm."

Harm grinned, rubbing the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment. He really wasn't very good at this.

"You know, when I first asked your mother out to dinner," Frank said, "She told me she didn't think she was ready to date. I eventually wore her down. When I asked her to marry me, she said she wasn't sure if it was the best thing for you. I wore her down there, too. And you remember when I promised you I wouldn't take your father's place, and you could trust me to be a friend whenever you needed one, you weren't convinced. Well," Frank smiled widely. "It seems I finally wore you down, too."

Harm laughed at his stepfather's statement.

"How about that drink, Frank?" He asked. Another dark band loosened from around his heart. He smiled brightly, feeling lighter.

"I have a bottle of single malt that's been waiting for an occasion like this," Frank replied grandly as he stood up.

"Perfect." Harm wondered how Frank felt about cigars. Well, why wonder? There was no time like the present to find out. "Do you smoke cigars?"

Frank glanced at Harm, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "If your mother asks: no."

Harm grinned. "Me neither, if Mac asks."

They shared a laugh.

"I'll send you a box when I get back to D.C.," Harm offered, "I got my hands on some Cohiba's not too far back."

"I haven't tasted a Cohiba in years." Frank said. He handed Harm a glass of whisky. "A business associate gave me a box of Montecristo, though. They're in the drawer." He nodded towards his desk.

Harm looked from the desk to the study door. He caught Frank's eye, feeling slightly guilty though even more tempted. Mac would kill him if she caught the smell of cigars on him. Harm frowned. Since when had he become the kind of whipped man he used to mock mercilessly?

He raised an eyebrow at Frank, breaking into a slow smile.

"I'll get the cigar cutter and the cigars," Frank said, his expression mirroring Harm's. "You lock the door and crack open the windows."

Harm grinned as he stood to lock the door. A Cuban cigar and single malt; heaven on earth.

--

Burnett Residence

La Jolla, CA

Saturday

1823 Local

Harm and Mac made their way to the kitchen for their last dinner here. Come morning, they would be on their way back to DC.

An older woman whom Mac had not seen before – she was perhaps a decade older than Trish – was puttering about the kitchen.

"Marla!" Harm exclaimed warmly, "It's great to see you. How are the kids? And Cliff?"

The woman turned, her face lighting up at the sight of Harm.

"Harm! It's great to see you! I'm doing good, dear. Lucy's pregnant with her third, and Sam started his own business, bless him. Something to do with the internet. I tell you, I don't understand him half the times he talks."

Harm laughed, and Mac's curiosity increased.

"Marla, this is Sarah MacKenzie." He placed his hand on her back. "Mac, this is Marla. I've known her for years. Since I was a teenager."

"Thirteen," Marla supplied, "And as contrary as I've ever seen them."

"Nice to meet you, Marla." Anything further Mac could've said was cut off by Trish's voice, as she entered the kitchen.

"Marla. You must tell Cliff what a wonderful job he's done with the bougainvillea."

Mac watched the exchange with interest. Apparently, Cliff was the Burnett's landscaper, and Marla was...

"Marla's been with mom since very soon after she married Frank." Harm said in her ear, in a low voice. "Regular cleaning stuff and house-sitting. Comes to help clean up after dinner parties, things like that."

Mac nodded. The world could be a strange place, she thought, wondering at where she was standing. And where she'd started out. She remembered her mom had spent one summer cleaning for a rich ranching family on the outskirts of town, a way to make some money to compensate for part of what her father spent on supplying his addiction.

"Rich folk with their damn silver spoons and noses in the air," Her father used to slur, sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, the harsh light of the television flashing over his face. A bottle or glass of some drink in his hand. "Think they're better than the rest of us. God gave women two hands to cook and clean; two legs to spread. Mrs. I'm-better-than-that, wasting her husband's hard earned money having someone else do the cleaning. Damn lazy bitch."

"Mac?"

She started from her thoughts, and found Harm watching her with concerned curiosity.

"Where were you?"

She shook her head, trying to smile through the fading wisps of memory. "Nowhere important."

He ran his thumb over her jaw, just looking at her with that familiar tenderness, and her smile turned genuine. He grinned in response, and tapped her nose with his forefinger.

"Dinner's being served, c'mon." He took her hand in his, to lead her back out to the porch.

"It was nice to meet you, Marla," Mac smiled warmly to the older lady.

"You too, dear," She grinned back.

Harm tugged Mac to the back doors. They stepped onto the deck, and Mac was again surprised by how happy Trish, Frank and Harm seemed. There was a notable difference in their demeanours from just this afternoon, following Harm's talk with Frank. The two of them had emerged from Frank's study smelling faintly of cigars and looking nonchalant in a way that only meant they were guilty of something. It was very cute, she thought, though she wasn't in the least likely to get upset about Harm smoking a cigar if he'd been doing it while mending long-abandoned fences with his stepfather. She just didn't think she could kiss his cigar-smelling self tonight without feeling sick.

Mac took the seat Harm pulled out for her. She watched the family in front of her as they sat at the table, passing around dishes of food and refilling empty glasses for each other.

She couldn't help the slight melancholy that dragged her down at the sight of it.

She was proud of Harm for being able to take the first step on what would undoubtedly be a long and tentative road with Frank. She was amazed at Frank's ability to simply forgive Harm's behaviour. No, she thought, not even forgive; Frank had just accepted it without holding it against Harm.

She knew her Uncle Matt had done the same with her, but seeing it here just pushed home the full wonder of what family could be.

It was remarkable, and she wished she'd had something like this growing up. Even more than that, she wished Uncle Matt wasn't in jail at the present, so she could have dinner with him and share fond memories and laughter. Mac sighed. She'd felt the same way near the end of her last visit with Harm to his parents'. This kind of attitude wouldn't do, she berated herself. Sometimes, wishing wasn't enough and no matter how badly you wanted something it just didn't happen. That was the truth, and she knew she'd just have to live with it or she'd ruin everyone's dinner with her pitiable mood.

"Sarah," Trish's voice pulled her back to the dinner in front of her and the company around her. "You haven't eaten a bite. Are you alright?" She asked with concern.

"I'm fine," Mac smiled at Harm's mother. "Thank you. My mind just wandered." She dug into the food on her plate to prove her point.

"You know, Frank, Mac's been cooking up a storm on the grill since our last visit," Harm said, looking from Frank to his mom. "You two should come visit us just to taste the salmon steak she makes."

Mac laughed, nudging Harm in the side. She knew he was trying to draw her back into the conversation. He could be so sweet.

"My ribs are a lot better than my salmon steak," She told Frank while giving Harm an indulgent glance. "He just refuses to taste them. And," She added excitedly as she remembered her forays into the culinary world, "I found this recipe for an incredible tandoori chicken. I have you to thank, Frank. It all started with the branding iron you sent."

"I'm glad you put it to use." Frank beamed. "I have a fantastic recipe for a steak rub I'm sure you'd love."

"That would be great!" Mac enthused. "I've actually been experimenting with making my own BBQ sauce—"

"See." Harm said, sharing an amused look with his mother. "You and I can play tourist in DC while these two make us dinner."

"We'd love to come!" Trish cut in before Mac could respond to Harm's teasing. She seemed very excited at the prospect. "Frank and I were planning on going to Venice around Thanksgiving. We could stop by D.C. on our way back."

"That would be great! Harm and I could probably get extra time off." She looked to Harm for confirmation. He nodded, looking pleased with the idea of a visit himself.

"We'll send you the dates." Trish replied. "I'm in the middle of a procurement for the gallery, but I hope to wrap it up in this coming week. We'll finalize our plans then."

"It'll be great," Harm was grinning ear to ear. "You haven't been by in ages, Mom. And Frank," Harm turned to his stepdad, "I can show you the, uh," He hesitated, casting a quick glance at his mother, "The custom work in my apartment we'd talked about earlier."

Mac looked at Harm, enjoying seeing the first genuinely contented smile on his face since his return from Russia. She was pretty sure 'custom work' meant those cigars he kept hidden in his closet. He gave her a warm wink, knowing that she knew. Mac could only laugh in response, and promised herself she'd try even harder to climb out of her funk so she could enjoy her time with Harm's family.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: I thought this next part was rather short, and it would just be cheating you to post it as a stand alone daily post. I hope to post part 12 tomorrow morning, but if sleeping in is more tempting then I likely won't deliver. But I will try.

--

Jag HQ  
1006 Local  
Two weeks later

Mac sat at her desk, lost in thought as she waited for the operator to connect her with Uncle Matt. She'd been feeling ... dissatisfied ever since her return from La Jolla with Harm. Well, maybe dissatisfied was the wrong word. Restless, perhaps was more apt. Or anxious, even. She didn't know why. This feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach on their last night there, and she just couldn't shake it.

Mac took a deep breath. She'd have to figure this out soon, or Harm was bound to notice. At the moment, he was too generally pleased with the way things were going between him and his parents, and too concerned with how Grams would take the news of her newly-discovered grandson to take much notice of her moods. She was thankful for it; it gave her the space she needed.

Space. She could admit that in previous relationships with men there always came a time when she started to feel claustrophobic, when she needed room to move and to breathe. With Harm, though, it was different. She wanted more rather than less and it terrified her. She hadn't ever let herself get this involved with anyone before. She didn't know what to do now that they were so close, and it made her uneasy. She hadn't had enough success with personal relationships to even know what the M.O. was at this stage, or if she even wanted it whatever it was. What did that say about her?

Maybe it meant that she'd screw this up, somehow.

All she knew was that putting some distance between her and whomever she was involved with was what had saved her undue amounts of hurt in the past. Would that be the case here? She wondered how hard it would be to be the one to put a distance between her and Harm, before he could do it first...

Impossible. It would be near impossible. She couldn't even conceive of it, couldn't breathe at the thought of it...

It all made her restless, the thought of how close she was to Harm, of how she felt for him. She was waiting for the next big bump in the road, the one they couldn't surmount. She was waiting for the rut they'd hit, the one they wouldn't be able to climb out of.

She needed to talk to someone about it. And so here she was, waiting to hear Uncle Matt's voice.

Mac heard the click of the call connecting.

"Hello Sarah," His voice came through the line.

Mac grinned, feeling better just at hearing him.

"Uncle Matt!"

"How are you?"

"It's good to hear your voice." She bit back a sigh.

"Yours too." He agreed. "So, how is your sailor?" He inquired after Harm as he'd been doing since he had found out she'd be partnered with him years ago. He used to ask 'How's that sailor?', but had switched to 'your sailor' when she'd told him that they'd deepened their relationship.

"He's doing well." She answered, not wanting to burden him with Harm's problems, knowing her uncle would only worry. It wouldn't do much good with him all the way in Leavenworth to go onto her own problems either. Mac sighed, her thoughts drifted, unmoored as they increasingly were when she thought of her relationship with Harm in recent days. She hated feeling restless. It reminded her of her teenage years, after her mother left. "He says hi." She added absently.

"What is it?" His concern was clear. "You sound happy, but there's something else."

She sighed. He knew her so well. God, she missed him at times like this. How long had it been since she'd gotten a hug from her uncle?

"No, it's not ... it's just..." She took a breath, calmed her thoughts and tried not to feel like she was 19 again, a recovering drunk about to head into boot camp. Her question came out sounding tentative. "Do you ever feel something is too good to happen? That it'll be taken away from you?"

She heard his affectionate chuckle. Her Uncle's laugh was the one sound she positively associated with paternal love. "Have a little faith, Sarah."

"I can't do anything with faith." She scoffed impatiently. "It's just a crutch to keep, well, reality at bay."

"What did I tell you about being so cynical?" His voice was warm, but she was appropriately chastised.

"It doesn't do anyone service." She answered, even as her automatic stubbornness was kicking in. "I know, but—"

"You found an honourable man who cares for you deeply, Sarah." He interjected. "It's a special thing. I'll even overlook him being Navy."

"He is amazing." She couldn't help but smile, her fingers idly toying with a pen lying on her desk.

He laughed. "That's better. So, what else is new with you?"

"Well something interesting happened last week, and something great happened. Which do you want to hear first?"

"Interesting."

"Well, I was on TV last week..."

"Really?! Did you record it?"

"It is nothing to get excited about, Uncle Matt." Mac shrugged uncomfortably.

"Did you tape it?" He repeated.

"Harm did," Mac sighed. He'd already sent one copy to his mom and Frank, and another to Gram. That had resulted in an embarrassing round of congratulatory phone calls. Mac had never had so much attention directed at her, such open praise and warmth. And honestly it made her quite uncomfortable. It wasn't something she was used to.

Harm had also gotten copies of the ridiculous ET coverage of her in a bikini, with the anchor going on about ... well, very unlawyerly and un-Marine-like things. It was now his greatest sport to watch them and tease her mercilessly about how those pictures came into circulation, and whether she had anymore hidden around.

"Save me a copy," Uncle Matt was saying.

"I will," She agreed, figuring he'd forget about it when the time came.

"How did you get on TV?" He prodded, rightfully guessing that she wasn't going to be very forthcoming about this.

"A trial I was prosecuting got televised. The SecNav thought it would be great for publicity. Defence council was an old law professor of mine."

"By the tone of your voice, I'm going to presume you won."

"I did," Mac said with no small degree of pride. Lap dancer her six. "And she played dirty."

"She didn't anticipate what a Marine is made of," Uncle Matt was beaming, if his tone way anything to go by. "Are you sure that wasn't the great news?"

"The great news is that Harriet and Bud are going to name their daughter after me." Mac was grinning from ear to ear. She was pleased and awed and overwhelmed and humbled. That they thought so well of her...

"That is incredible." He sounded just as she had, when she'd received the news. "It's an honour."

Mac laughed. "It is, isn't it?"

"I'm proud of you, Sarah. You've come far from our time at Red Rock. You took control of your life."

Mac stilled at his words. Uncle Matt was, she realized, the first man she'd used to measure all others against. Harm and he were both principled men who shared a deep sense of integrity. It was something she admired in both of them.

"Uncle Matt." She didn't even know how to thank him in any way appropriate to what he meant to her. "I..." She trailed off. They weren't the kind to be touchy feely with each other.

"I know, Sarah. Me too." He sounded as awkward as she felt. It brought a smile to her lips. "You take care of yourself, now."

"Yes, Sir." Mac replied, missing him more with every passing minute, yet feeling better too with every passing minute.

"And do your country proud."

"Yes, Sir."

"Goodbye, Sarah." He concluded.

"Bye, Uncle Matt. Thank you." She grinned, invigorated by their talk.

She waited until her uncle had disconnected on his end before hanging up.

Once the headset was back in its cradle, though, her good mood dissipated and the doubts were quick to return. Mac rubbed her hands over her face. What was wrong with her? Harm had told her once that she pushed away men who valued her. She hadn't thought it true at the time, but now, with the restlessness she couldn't seem to quell ... She stopped that thought before it started. She silently vowed not to let herself do anything stupid or hurtful where Harm was concerned. She had made him a promise, after all.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

Harm's Apartment  
0229 Local

Harm woke up, jarred from sleep by an unsettling dream he was already forgetting. He reached for Mac, for the steady comfort her presence in his bed afforded him. It was amazing, he thought, how the soft warmth of her skin against his did so much for him. He forced his eyes open when his arm met nothing but cool bed sheets. He let out a groan of dissatisfaction, debating whether to try and find sleep again, or set out in search of her. Where was she anyways. He couldn't hear any sounds coming from the washroom, no sounds from his apartment in fact. He glanced at his clock – 0230. Where on earth.

With monumental effort, Harm tossed the warm sheets from his body and sat up on his bed, his feet planted on the cool hardwood of his apartment. He blinked once, twice. Rubbed a hand over his face. Convinced himself to wake up.

He heard the soft ruffles of paper in the next room. Was she working? Curiosity got the best of him, and he abandoned his bed in search of Mac.

She was sitting at his desk, pen in hand, almost drowning in what he knew were her warmest sweatpants and sweatshirt – because, she told him, his apartment was always so damn cold.

He grinned at the sight, and clad in nothing but boxers – because he knew for a fact the temperature in his apartment was just perfect – he made his way to her.

She turned before he reached, looking surprised and concerned.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

He shook his head. "What're you working on?"

"Couldn't sleep." She shrugged. "Thought I might as well be productive."

He perched himself on the desk, and studied her face. It hit him that since their trip to La Jolla, he hadn't been very attentive to her. The engagement ring was lying at the bottom of his sock drawer ... And she'd seemed jumpier, somehow. On her guard. "Something bothering you?"

She shook her head a little too quickly, and was suddenly engrossed by the papers on the desk.

He smiled at her transparency. "What is it?" He ran his fingers through her hair.

"It's nothing." She leaned into his touch with a soft sigh.

"Then come back to bed." He coaxed.

She lifted her head to look at him. She was hesitating about something.

He stood up, and tugged at her hand, leaving her no choice but to follow. "At least keep me company. It'll be better than working on case files at two in the morning."

She followed him, his hand holding hers as he led them to bed.

He dropped back into his big, warm bed, and watched as Mac removed her sweatpants and sweatshirt to reveal a tight t-shirt and her panties. He grinned at the sight, his blood warming, a surge of pleasure in his veins.

It suddenly occurred to him that if he turned up the thermostat just a bit, he could enjoy seeing her walking around in nothing but her underwear at times other than bed time, instead of those heavy sweats she now favoured. In fact, at her apartment, she wore those sheer nightgowns and silky robes that revealed more than they hid.

It was a jolting realization: what species of idiot was he to deprive himself of the sight of Mac more than half naked, just because he thought his apartment was temperate? He was a certifiable embarrassment to men everywhere. He berated himself, and while Mac removed her socks he made a mental note to turn the heat up tomorrow night. After all, he could sleep naked, no big deal.

She slid between the covers and fit herself snugly to him. He wrapped an arm around her, and kissed her temple, recognizing this move of hers. This was how she'd curled into him after the case with Theresa Coulter's dad.

"You can tell me, Mac." He tried again to draw her out gently. "You haven't had trouble sleeping in a while.

Her fingers moved in soft caresses over his chest. He closed his eyes, enjoying this closeness.

"I spoke with Uncle Matt today." She answered quietly.

"Is he alright?" He ventured, hoping she answered in the affirmative. Her Uncle was her only family.

"Yeah."

"That's good." He said tentatively, letting out a silent breath of relief.

She nodded, saying nothing and Harm was reminded of how talking to her could still be like pulling teeth, armed with nothing but silly string.

"You miss him?"

She nodded again. "Yeah. A lot."

"Sorry." He apologized. This was something else he couldn't do for her.

She lifted her head to look at him, frowning. "How is it your fault? If not for you, his sentence would've been far worse." Her words heated as she spoke. "That fact alone has me in your debt; there's nothing I can do to ever repay you!" She was obviously getting upset, which he couldn't understand.

"You are not in my debt!" He reacted, his words came out sounding harsher than he'd intended. He wasn't sure how to explain what he meant. He was even less sure about why she was reacting so strongly to this conversation. "I would've done more if I could," He settled for saying in a gentler tone.

"I know that." Her frown deepened. He could feel her frustration. "I didn't mean that you didn't do enough, that this is somehow your fault." He felt her body tense, as though to move away.

"Hey there." He rubbed a hand along her back, placating. It was a rare insight where she was concerned, but he sensed that her Uncle Matt wasn't the real issue. She was picking a fight. "Power down. I just meant that I would do anything I could, anything possible, for you. I just can't think of what I can do about your Uncle serving less time."

The fight left her, replaced by guilt. She dropped her head on his shoulder, and took a deep breath. "No, no. I know. It's just ... I'm, I don't know."

"Talk it out." He offered, feeling a bit helpless at how lost she sounded.

She hugged him tight, her voice muffled. "Do you ever feel like this, you and me ... that the other shoe will drop?"

He frowned.

"What do you mean?" He tried to draw her out further, having no clue what she was talking about.

"I don't know!" She huffed, as though he were the one being unreasonable.

He laughed, realizing what was happening. Mac was such a worrier. "Are you borrowing trouble, MacKenzie?"

"No." She shook her head stubbornly against his shoulder.

He grinned, nudging her lightly. "Have a little faith, French fry."

She went still at his words. For a moment, the silence in the room was interrupted only by the sounds of their breathing.

"I want to." She said quietly. "I just ... Things like this don't last, they never do. And I don't..." She lifted her head again and looked him straight in the eye with a courage that seemed so hard-won, it broke his heart. "Tell me what I can do to make this last."

He was taken aback by her words. And that was the moment it hit him. She would marry him, if he asked – when he asked. For him, it would mean having her, being with her for the rest of his life. But for her, it would be the certainty that she'd lived most of her life without, the expectation that tomorrow wasn't an open question, that she was building her trust on solid ground, that she had a home, she had a family that wouldn't turn its back on her. A home in his heart, a family in Gram and his mom and Frank. In him. It would be his promise to her.

This was it. His heart thudded in his chest, his palms started to sweat. He was finding it a bit difficult to breathe.

"You could marry me." He whispered.

She didn't move. Her eyes searched his in surprise, filled with that thin distrust he'd worked so hard to chip away at over the years. She didn't believe his motives.

"I love you," He fumbled for a romantic speech, but all he could feel right now was nervous. "I love you more than anything, more than I thought I was capable of. I want to spend my life with you, because I don't know how I could do it without you. I want to spend the rest of my life being everything you could want, being everything you could need ... I want to grow old with you, love you, live life with you..." He swallowed heavily realizing that he was babbling and his nerves were making it difficult for him to read her expression and he was completely ruining this. "I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you happy, to build a family with you, to be your family..." He trailed off, not knowing what else to say, wishing she would just say something.

"You want to get married?" She said softly, almost as if to herself. She sounded genuinely surprised, not quite believing this was true.

He quickly slipped out from under her, out of bed, and rummaged through his sock drawer for the ring.

He turned back, ring in hand, and was about to sit down on the bed beside her, when it occurred to him that he should propose while down on bended knee – that was protocol. Was it okay to propose wearing only boxers? Aw, hell, he should've put on pants. His heart was beating so hard he couldn't think.

He knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his.

"I can't think of anything I've wanted more than the honour of being your husband." He offered her the ring. "It's the ring my dad gave my mom. It's not new or anything, but..." He took a breath and looked her in the eye. "Marry me?"

She just stared at him. She opened her mouth, nothing came out, and she shut it again. She looked so completely taken by surprise, so shocked, her expression one of pure disbelief, that he knew she was trying to convince herself this was all real.

Despite his nervousness – he thought he might just throw up if she didn't say something – he couldn't help but smile at how much of a loss she seemed to be at.

"Hey, French fry?" He took her hand in his, cupped her face. "Marry me?"

She just stared at him. Then she sniffed once, and suddenly she was crying, big tears that slid down her face.

"Mac?" He asked, eyes wide with panic. He quickly sat beside her on the bed, but wasn't sure if he should touch her.

She shook her head, and then threw herself at him. She buried her face in his neck, her arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, and she just kept crying.

"No, wait. Don't cry." Anything but that, her sobs twisted his heart. He ran a soothing hand up and down her back, completely confused by her reaction.

"Mac?"

He had no clue what to do. He'd never seen her cry this much over anything. This didn't seem like a good thing. He'd really though she would agree, she would say yes. He swallowed heavily.

"You, ah, you don't have to do anything right now, please just stop crying."

She still wasn't stopping.

"I didn't mean to make you cry." He soothed. What did this mean.

She tightened her arms around his shoulders, and he thought maybe the tears had stemmed somewhat.

"Oh, Harm." She whispered, still sniffing.

He didn't know what that meant, and she wasn't saying anything more.

"It's alright." He forced himself to say. "I love you, always. That won't change."

And that was enough to make the tears started afresh.

"Mac?" Panic was again rising. "Talk to me. I don't know what to do."

"I wasn't expecting this." She mumbled into his neck.

He couldn't help but laugh at her response, finding humour in this strange turn of events, even though he wasn't quite sure what was happening. "I can tell."

She joined him, her face still in his neck, laughing through her tears.

Okay. So, proposing was nothing like what they made it out to be in the movies. Surely she wouldn't actually say no, would she?

She pulled back with the most stunning smile he'd ever seen spread over her features. "Yes."

It took him a moment to realize what she meant.

"So you'll marry me?" Hope flickered and burst in his heart.

"Yes, please!" She nodded excitedly, that stunning smile still in place, eyes sparkling through her tears, looking so damn beautiful. This was his new favourite smile of hers, he decided, and he laughed out of sheer joy, convinced he'd never again feel a moment of such intense happiness as this one.

He kissed her and held her tightly, filled with that sense of promise that only really came in the mornings. Then he got back down on his knee. He took her hand in his.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you." He slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands shaking, and a few more tears escaped from her eyes.

She looked at the ring for a moment, and then slid down to her knees in front of him. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, kissing his neck, the side of his face, his hair.

"I love you, Harm."

He laughed just because he was happy.

"Always." He held her tight.

This was the best day of his life, hands down. It was perfect.

--

"We'll have to tell the admiral first thing," He struggled to regain control of his breathing, enjoying her sweat-slicked naked form in his arms. It was definitely better with them engaged. He could only imagine the fireworks their first time as a married couple. He grinned into the darkness.

"Mm."

Her answer was rather non-responsive. But then, he hadn't quite caught his breath yet either.

"He'll transfer one, or both of us out," He elaborated, rubbing his hand over her back.

"Mm." Again, a non-responsive if happy hum.

He lifted his head to look down at her. She was staring at the ring on her finger as it glinted in the light. "Are you listening?"

"Tell admiral. Transfer." She repeated the words, more intent on staring at the ring on her finger.

"You don't seem troubled by it."

"Why would I be," She turned her head towards him. "I have you." A blinding smile came with that.

"So you aren't worried?"

"If I transfer out, whatever duty station I end up at," She shrugged, turning her attention back to the ring. "I'll still be a Marine, and a damned good one at that."

"What if you don't like it?" He probably shouldn't give her reasons to back out, but he thought she should know what they were getting themselves into. This was pretty huge. "What if you aren't happy?"

"How could I not be?" She lifted herself up to meet his eye, dazzling smile still in place. "We're getting married!"

He grinned, smoothed the hair away from her face, his thumb traced her lips.

"What about you?" She asked, "Are you worried?"

"Why would I be?" He gave her his best grin, "I have you."

They shared a smile.

"We should call your parents," She settled herself back on his chest.

"Nah." He shifted against the pillows to make them more comfortable. "We can do that later." He yawned. "Besides, mom already knows I was going to propose."

"What?" She sat up, stared at him. "Really?"

"I did get the ring from her," He pointed at the ring.

She smiled that dazzling smile as her gaze fell to her adorned finger.

"When did you have it sent over?"

He hadn't expected that question. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering if lying to your fiancée on the first night of the engagement would somehow jinx the future. What were the rules of karma for this?

"Um, I ah..."

"What?" She looked up at him with a frown.

"Well, I've had the ring since our visit to La Jolla..." At least he was telling the truth. That was commendable.

"After Sergei." She nodded in understanding.

"No," He cleared his throat, now he really had to say it. "Um, the one before that."

"What!" Her jaw dropped. "That was in the beginning of June!"

"I was waiting for the right time..."

"It's been months, Harm!" She pointed out, ever so practically.

"It was never the right time." He repeated.

She stared at him in silence for a moment, looking thoroughly incredulous. Then, a spark of humour lit her eyes.

"This is why you were such a mess for a whole month after we came back!"

"I was not a mess," He defended.

"Harm. You sent me flowers, just like that. You drew me a bath – with rose petals in it. You kept taking me to fancy restaurants."

"So being romantic means being a mess? I'll keep that in mind," He teased.

She punched his arm lightly in warning. "You kept spacing out, acting strange, and let's not forget all the weird things you kept saying..."

"That is not true."

She quirked an eyebrow, and he huffed. He would admit to nothing.

She started laughing. "You are funny."

She lay back down and snuggled with him.

"I always would have said yes, Harm. You're my best friend." She said this as though it were all the explanation necessary.

"I was waiting for the perfect moment," He repeated stubbornly. Best friend. She made it sound like she would've accepted if he'd proposed right before he left to fly. They'd been best friends back then too, after all. What a load of BS, he thought. The timing _had_ to be perfect. It did matter.

He was about to tell her so to prove his point when he felt her chuckle, the sound a pleasant echo against his chest.

She sighed happily and then kissed his shoulder, which made him decide he could just as well prove his point later.

They lay together in a warm silence.

She yawned, slowly giving in to sleep. He loved her like this, so comfortable in his arms, cozy and soft.

"Thank you." She whispered.

"For what?"

She lifted her left hand, indicating the ring.

"C'mon, Mac." He said, uncomfortable with the depth in her voice, in her eyes. If anything, he felt the absurd urge to get back on bended knee just to thank her for saying yes. He'd have flowers sent to her tomorrow. And chocolate. Hell, he'd take her to Beltway Burgers for lunch. He hoped he could be everything she saw in him. He didn't think lucky was close to covering what he was. Fortunate? Blessed, maybe?

"I can't wait, Mac." He said. "I can already picture it: you and me, a couple of kids..."

She shifted slightly against him, nestling closer. "Tell me," She whispered.

"You," He began. "Smiling, happy, carefree. Wearing my wedding ring. Sitting at the kitchen table—"

"Me, in a kitchen?" She interrupted, her tone incredulous.

"Hey now," He tugged at her hand which was lying on his chest, "Whose fantasy is this?"

She looked at him, feigning chastisement, a twinkle in her eye. "Sorry."

He smiled at her and continued, "Sitting at the kitchen table, helping our kids with their homework while I'm whipping up your favourite healthy, nutritionally balanced meal—"

She scoffed at that. "Alright. That's definitely a fantasy."

He laughed and kissed her hair.

"Sweet dreams, French fry."

He felt her smile. "G'night, Harm."

He waited until she was almost asleep before repeating: "And I was just waiting for the perfect moment."

The sound of her low laughter followed him to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

_The next morning..._

Mac woke up to a bright sunlight pouring through the windows and a warm Harm hogging the sheets.

She grinned. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. How could he be sleeping now? At a time like this? They'd just gotten engaged! They were going to get married!

And he was sleeping.

Unbelievable.

She quietly slipped out of bed before the sheer force of her excitement woke him up. She exited the bedroom, shutting the door behind her, and stood in the middle of the living room.

She looked down at the ring on her finger. She squealed silently. She was getting married to Harm! Of all the things ... she hadn't even let herself imagine this.

She jumped up and down with excitement, but it wasn't enough to tame the energy inside her.

She pulled out her 80s dance moves. Running man. She was getting married. The robot. To Harm! Moonwalk. She had a ring! Milking the Cow. It had taken him months to get up the nerve to put that ring on her finger!

She laughed at that, pausing in her private dance-a-thon. Silly man. Waiting for the right time, her foot!

She glanced at the bedroom, and decided she didn't want to celebrate alone.

She ran back towards the room, pushed the door open and vaulted onto the bed.

"Harm!" She cried, landing squarely on his stomach. "Wake up!"

He grunted in what sounded like pain. His eyes popped open in shock and he looked visibly winded. He sat up so quickly, they almost bumped foreheads.

"Mac!" He placed his arms protectively around her, his eyes wildly searching the room. "What is it? Did someone break in? Where's my gun?" He was disoriented.

She laughed, and hugged him tightly with her arms wrapped around his neck.

"We're getting married!"

He pulled back and stared at her blankly. He blinked. "What?"

She giggled at the expression on his face. "You big oaf. Wake up! We're getting married."

"Today?" He frowned, confusion overrunning his face. "Are you sure?"

She stared at him, trying very hard not to laugh. He apparently wasn't fully awake. She waved her ring-clad ring in front of his eyes.

"You asked me last night!"

He deflated with relief, but immediately straightened, indignant. "You scared me awake because of that! Mac!" He protested. "My heart stopped beating!"

She hugged him again, squeezing him with all her strength.

"I can't breathe, Mac," He choked out. "It's too tight" He tried to pull her arms away.

"We're getting married," She whispered to herself, getting all teary-eyed. She sniffed. "I'm so happy. I love you."

"I love you, too." The poor man sounded very perplexed, but he gave up trying to move her arms and just returned her hug.

She leaned back and patted his cheek.

"You can go back to sleep now, Harm," She offered grandly, her eyes wet with tears, her lips stretched in a grin. "Thank you."

He laughed.

"You are a strange bird, French fry." He kissed her nose. "I think I'll make you breakfast instead. Another wake-up call like that one is likely to give me a heart attack. It's best for my health to just stay awake."

She didn't even feel the slightest bit guilty. How could he even sleep when things were going so amazing?

"Okay." She shrugged happily. "But how about French toast?"

He looked at her in disbelief for a moment, before the tell-tale spark of amusement lit his eyes.

"Only if you promise never to wake me up like that again." He bargained.

"If I did that, I'd be starting our engagement out with a blatant lie. That wouldn't be wise, would it?" She said in as serious a tone as she could muster. "Maybe we shouldn't rush this discussion. How about I give you a few months to think over an answer, and then, when you think the time is right, you can get back to me."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?"

"Not for all the French toast in the world, Squid."

--

Harm waited as the phone rang. He'd never been so excited to talk with his mother.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mom," Harm tried to sound nonchalant, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Good morning, darling," Her smile was evident in her voice, as was usually the case when he called her. "So, do I have my daughter-in-law yet?

"Mom," He used the tone of exasperation he'd mastered these last few months, having used it whenever she asked him this question.

"Alright, alright" She relented with a sigh. "I won't ask."

Harm's grin got wider. He was really, really enjoying this.

"Guess what, mom?" He re-assumed his mantle of casualness.

"You proposed," She said, her off-hand tone matching his.

He rolled his eyes. So much for the element for surprise. "You suck all the fun out of announcements."

There was a heavy pause.

"Oh! My! Goodness!" She shrieked, and Harm had to hold the phone away from his ear. "Harmon Rabb Jr. you proposed! Give Sarah the phone!"

"But," Harm protested. He'd done all the hard work, what with proposing and all ..."What about—"

"Now, Harmon!" He knew a command when he heard one.

Harm sighed, glancing at Mac. "She wants to talk to you."

Mac grinned and grabbed the phone from Harm.

"Trish, hi!"

Harm watched as she listened carefully to his mother. She was nodding and laughing and looking beautiful. And soon she would be his wife. Wife. He grinned. Who would've thought: him with a wife. Wait until he told Keeter. Hell, wait until he told anyone.

"Thank you!" Mac's enthusiasm pulled him back to the present. Harm marvelled at his mother. She was congratulating her soon-to-be daughter first, before her already son.

Mac laughed in genuine pleasure at something his mother said.

His mother squealed over the phone, and it sounded suspiciously like "You can finally call me 'mom'!"

He shook his head grinning as Mac laughed even harder.

"We have your flight plans." She nodded into the receiver. "I will, Trish, I promise." She looked at Harm for a moment, smiling widely, before returning her attention to the phone. "What? Oh, sorry Trish. I mean, Mom. Sorry, Mom." She actually blushed when she said 'mom'.

"Bye, Tr- Mom." Mac gave a small, conscious laugh when she corrected herself. "Have fun in Venice! Give my love to Frank."

She handed Harm the phone, and indicated the bedroom.

"Shower," She mouthed to him. He nodded, and turned his attention to his mother.

"Hey, Mom."

"Harmon! I am so proud of you!"

"Thank you." He said, with a touch of pride, and then patiently listened as his mother vented her excitement.

"I always worried you'd never marry! Oh, this is such great news. Frank always said you would settle in your own time, but I was beginning to wonder ..." His mother rambled, as she always did when she was excited. "I thought my only daughter-in-law would be Sarah – the biplane, not that wonderful girl you found – and my only grandchild that corvette of yours."

It was Harm's turn to blush. He was relieved Mac had gone for her shower. She would've teased him for the rest of their lives if she'd heard that.

"Mom!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, I know. I shouldn't have doubted. You do take the roundabout route to practically everything you do."

"Is this supposed to be a congratulatory call?" He cut in, "Because it doesn't exactly sound like one." And his mother said his verbal filter was defective.

"I'm sorry, dear. This is just such incredible news! Wait until I tell Frank!" She paused for a breath. "Oh, and have you told your grandmother?"

"Well, we were going to head over there for Thanksgiving next weekend, to tell her about..." He hesitated, still not sure how he felt about all this, how to talk about it with his mom ... "About my last trip to Russia."

"Harm," Now his mother was hesitating, "Maybe you should give her one big piece of news at a time. Gram is getting on in years."

"So I don't tell her about Sergei?" He didn't think he could keep that from her. She'd see it written all over his face.

"Tell her another time," She suggested. She didn't sound sure.

"How would she take the news? And wouldn't she get upset if she found out I was keeping this from her?"

A heavy pause.

"I don't know how Grams would take it," She finally said, speaking slowly as though testing the words. "But I think if you tell her once you've wrapped your mind around it, and she sees that you're okay with it, she won't worry as much about you."

"She'd worry about you."

"Harm, I don't know if I can talk about it just yet. If I'm ready for that. It still hasn't quite sunk in yet."

"It wouldn't do to avoid it," He said gently.

"I know."

They both sighed.

"Alright," His mother said, her tone decisive. "You should tell her. But give her the good news first."

"She'll be really excited about that," Harm grinned, picturing Gram's reaction and shoving everything else aside.

"She is going to be over the moon!" Trish said, sounding excited herself. She then added in a more severe tone, "Just call her to tell her in advance that you're coming. She'll pull your ear if you don't give her enough notice to cook up a storm for you two."

"Don't worry." He assured his mom.

"And don't forget Frank and I will be passing through two weeks from now, on our way back from Europe."

"Would I forget a thing like that?" He feigned affront.

"Well, not with Sarah to remind you, I'm sure."

Harm rolled his eyes at his mother's teasing.

"This is so wonderful, Harm! I am so excited! I'm so happy!"

"So am I." He couldn't help but laugh at his mother's rambling.

"Good! Now go celebrate with your fiancée!" She ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am." He hung up wearing a smile on his face. It occurred to him there was one more person he could call to tell in person. He headed back to the bedroom to get his cell phone.

"What're you up to?" Mac asked, when he entered the room. She was in the middle of dressing, already having finished taking a shower. Harm had never met anyone who showered as fast as Mac did.

"Getting Frank's phone number off my cell." He answered. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the address book. "I thought we could call him."

"That's a great idea!" She exclaimed. "It'll make him so happy to hear it from you."

"If I beat mom to it," He joked. "She's probably called up everyone she knows by now. Mothers." He shook his head in fond exasperation.

Mac's only response to the statement was a soft smile and a distant look. For the first time since she'd woken him up by throwing her full weight onto his ribs, she seemed subdued. Harm put down his phone and walked up to her. She was buttoning up her shirt, lost deep in thought. He pulled her into a hug.

"Hey." He whispered. He wondered what she was thinking about. Her parents? "When's the next time you can talk to Uncle Matt?"

"Not for a while. We usually only talk once a month." She sounded sad. "I'll write to him."

"Think he'll approve?"

"He'll be very pleased," She answered, her voice muffled by his shirt. She sighed. "Go on, call Frank."

"Okay," He kissed the top of her head. "You want to go to the Wall after? We can tell Dad the good news, too."

She nodded against his chest. "Okay. Although I think he already knows."

Harm smiled. She always knew the right thing to say. But what could he say to her?

She looked up at him, probably sensing his worry for her. "I'm fine, I promise. Call Frank."

He kissed her soundly before retrieving his cell phone. He'd give her that family, he vowed. She wouldn't miss out on anything.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: Thanks for sticking with this. Much appreciated.

--

JAG HQ  
0700 Local  
Monday

Mac walked into her office and switched on the lights, all the while lost in thought. They'd be meeting the admiral in 30 minutes. She'd been on cloud nine the night Harm had proposed. Walking on air. And then in the morning ... she'd been on ... was there such a thing as cloud one hundred? Because if there was, that's what she would've been walking on.

Until Harm talked about sharing the news with his parents and grandmother. That had brought it all home, and instead of feeling intensely happy, she'd felt intensely lonely.

Mac sighed. There was something wrong with that. She set her briefcase on her desk, and her eyes fell on a massive bouquet of flowers and a basket of Snickers bars sitting on her desk.

She smiled, and then she frowned, and then got caught somewhere between the two.

When on earth had Harm found the time to arrange for this? She fingered the flower petals, trying to decipher how she was feeling about all this.

Maybe she needed to give it more time to sink in.

A knock sounded at her door, causing Mac to turn her head.

"Ma'am," Harriet was beaming. "I think it's safe to say the Commander is romantic."

Mac laughed at Harriet's expression of joy, she let go of the flower petal. "I would have to agree, Harriet."

The Lieutenant's expression transformed, her eyes fixed on Mac's left hand. Mac decided it was disbelief, incredulity, shock, and glee, all rolled into one.

"You...did he..." Harriet stuttered, "Mac..."

Mac bit her lip, her own excitement bubbling over. Her doubts all faded at the wonder of what the ring she was wearing meant, of who gave it to her. She was grinning so widely her cheeks hurt. "He did."

"Oh, my! Can I see?" She rushed over – well, more like waddled over – not waiting for an answer, and took Mac's hand in her own. "It's gorgeous! How was it? Was his proposal really romantic?" Her questions machine-gunned through Mac's tiny office. Harriet gave a none-too subtle glance at the flowers and chocolates on her desk. "I bet it was."

"It was a mess, Harriet." She said sheepishly. Her behaviour embarrassed her, thinking back. And suddenly, the full ramifications of what had happened hit her square in the chest.

She was going to get married. Her. The one person who could not sustain a meaningful relationship with any man, was going to get married. This didn't solve anything, she realized. Getting married solved nothing. She still was terrified, a fear that cut sharply under her skin, prickling under the surface.

And what exactly did marriage mean? She loved Harm more than she thought she could love a person, and it scared her. She wanted this so badly, but what did that mean. For god's sake, her parents had been married and that meant nothing. She'd been married before, and she had definitely screwed that one up. Could she really do this?

Harriet stopped gushing over the rock on her finger and looked at Mac, confusion plain on her face.

"A what?"

"A mess, Harriet." Mac stared at the flowers. "A mess. I was a mess. He said the most amazing things ... I mean it was so..." He'd given her something she hadn't dared hope for, and all she could do was cry. It still made her want to cry, and she didn't know why. Since when was she so emotional. "It was more than I'd ever thought possible, it was more than I thought could ever happen, and he asked me to marry him and all I could think was that he actually wants to spend the rest of his life with me ... wants a family with me..." Mac shook her head, still not quite able to wrap her mind around it all. "It was so incomprehensible, so I just started bawling."

"Bawling?" Harriet's voice was hesitant, disbelieving.

"Bawling. It was a mess. I couldn't stop crying." Mac paused, suddenly realizing the extent of what she'd just revealed. Oh, god. She'd been rambling like an idiot. She gave Harriet a look stuck somewhere between a threat and a plea and embarrassment. "This doesn't leave my office, Harriet. They'll kick me out if the Corps finds out I cried like a baby over, over ... that." Not to mention she'd have Harriet's six in a sling. But it seemed bad form to threaten a pregnant woman in that way...

"Yes." Harriet said quickly, and then seemed to think that was the wrong answer. "I mean, no of course not," She said, just as quickly.

Mac just shook her head and stared at the surface of her desk. What must Harm have thought of her?

"Poor Harm. He was so confused. He even said I didn't have to answer him, I could take time to think it over, anything to stop the crying."

Harriet laughed. "What is it with men seeing a woman cry?"

Mac had to smile at that, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to both jump out the window running for her life, and jump up and down with excitement. Oh, lord. She was going to get married.

"It's a very emotional moment." Harriet offered.

"Tell me about it." She remembered the look on his face when he'd asked her, that ever-present glimmer of affection ... of love. The memory warmed her. No one made her feel the way Harm did. "It was amazing. The feeling." She tried to latch on to that feeling, to hoard it for all the other times when she thought she was crazy to tie herself to another person for the rest of her life, to depend on him...

Harriet grinned, her own eyes fixed on some unseen memory, her hand rubbing her swollen stomach. "It only gets better."

Mac tried another smile on. Hold on to that feeling, she coached herself.

Harriet sighed in a way that would make a sixteen-year old hugging her diary proud. "I should probably get back to work."

Mac nodded. "Me too." Working would be a needed distraction from ... thinking. "These reports won't write themselves. And Harm and I have to meet with the admiral in five to share the news."

"Good luck, Ma'am," Harriet said sincerely. The admiral had been somewhat of a bear since his rumoured break-up with Dr. Walden.

"Thanks, Harriet," Mac responded, although she needed luck for another reason altogether.

Harriet left for her desk, and Mac stared at the ring on her finger, replaying Harriet's words.

iIt only gets better./i

Did it really, though?

Her first marriage really had been terrible. She hadn't thought Harm would propose. She hadn't thought he would want to get married, let alone suggest it. What she'd told Harm at his parents' place was the truth: she'd never really thought marriages were a good thing until recently. And she'd definitely not thought she could actually have a good marriage ... she still wasn't entirely convinced she could. It just sounded too good to be true, even if she wanted it more than any other thing she could wish for. She wasn't that lucky, and she sure as hell didn't know what to do to make it work. Where did one learn that kind of thing?

She kept staring at the ring on her finger and realized with a start that she was still waiting for the next rut they'd hit; the one they couldn't climb out of.

"Hey."

She looked up to see Harm, standing at her door with an easy grin and a contented glint in his eye. Just seeing him calmed her.

Her responding smile was automatic. "Hey." She nodded towards the flowers and chocolate on her desk. "Thank you. It's very sweet of you."

They indulged in a few moments of silent admiration and brimming smiles.

"You ready to go see the admiral?" He asked.

Mac nodded, her previous doubts filtering in, slowly seeping. She stood up quickly, hoping Harm wouldn't notice.

"Mac," He caught her wrist as she walked by him to exit her office. She met his solid gaze. The calm conviction that met her was steadying and unbalancing in equal measure. "We wait and see what the admiral suggests. We don't rush to take any assignment if it's not a good career fit. However long it takes, we do this right."

She nodded.

He cast a quick glance over her, towards the bullpen, before returning his attention to her. "Ready, French fry?" His voice was low, luminous like the smile in his eyes.

She nodded again, with more conviction than she felt.

--

"Have a seat, Colonel, Commander," The admiral indicated the chairs in front of his desk. There was a speculative gleam in his eye, as he watched them. Harm thought he seemed to be in a decent mood, given the relative unpredictability of his disposition lately.

Harm gave Mac a reassuring smile. She'd seemed ... nervous in her office. He hadn't known her to be nervous very often. But then, this was an important meeting. And the admiral was still prickly more often than not.

"What is this—" The admiral cut himself off, his eye catching the ring on Mac's finger. He lit up, a reaction Harm was not expecting.

"Mac, Harm," He stood up and came around his desk. "Congratulations!"

Harm stood up quickly, just in time to receive a hearty handshake from his CO.

"Permission to hug the Colonel?" The admiral asked, wearing a broad smile.

Mac laughed, glowing from head to toe. Harm couldn't keep the grin off his face at seeing her look so happy: he put that smile on her face.

"Yes, Sir." Mac accepted the admiral's embrace. "Thank you, Sir."

"This is wonderful news," The admiral said, letting go of Mac and leaning against his desk. "We'll have to look into our options about your billets. It wouldn't be feasible to keep you both in this office, since I couldn't have you face off against each other."

"Yes, Sir," Harm responded, sparing a quick glance at Mac. She didn't look particularly disappointed, much to Harm's relief. "We understand."

"Either of us, or both if it comes to that, are prepared to transfer out, Sir," Mac added.

"Have you looked into any other postings?"

"Not yet, Sir." They chorused.

Chegwidden nodded. "Very well. This might take some time – I don't want either of your careers to take a step back because of this."

"We're prepared to wait," Harm replied. Another quick glance netted him Mac's confirming nod. Although he thought he caught something in her eye, a flash of ... worry? He made a mental note to talk to her about it later.

"I'll keep you posted." The admiral concluded the conversation.

"Thank you, Sir." They both stood to attention.

"Dismissed," The admiral was again grinning broadly as the two prepared to leave. "Harm, Mac," His voice took on a more intimate timber, indicating he was no longer speaking as their CO. His eyes twinkled. "I recall telling you both something about not getting too close."

Harm and Mac both laughed.

"You did, Sir," Harm answered for them both.

"Well, I have to say I didn't expect you two," He looked from Harm to Mac as he said this, "To hold out for very long, but you almost made four years. I'm duly impressed." He turned to Harm, "Especially given your track record at following orders, Rabb."

The admiral seemed to find this very amusing, and chuckled to himself as he resumed his seat behind the desk.

"That will be all." The admiral said, still chuckling.

"That went well," Harm commented once they'd cleared the admiral's office. He grinned at Mac.

"It did," She agreed, returning his grin. "Better than I thought." He decided that maybe he had imagined her worry. She seemed perfectly fine, pleased even.

"All we do is wait," He resisted the urge to take her hand in his, to pull her into a hug. He settled for a broad grin and a wink.

"Right," She nodded slowly. "Wait."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Not mine

--  
Rabb Farm  
One week later  
1204 Local

Harm stood in front of his grandmother's front door, his trepidation mirroring what he'd felt standing in front of his mom and Frank's house five weeks ago.

This was going to be really, really hard to do. He wondered if he'd just been making excuses by putting this off for so long, if he should've just bitten the bullet. But it was going to be really, really hard to do.

Mac's hand slipped into his, soft yet sure.

"Hey," She coaxed.

He looked down at her as she stood next to him, and shored up strength from the warm brown of her eyes. A smile found its way to his lips, reassurance to his heart. He lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

It flew open after a few seconds, the inviting aroma of apple pie and the heart-warming sight of his grandmother greeted them.

"You are early!" Gram exclaimed. Before she could say anymore, Harm pulled her in for a massive bear hug. Seeing his grandmother was always like ... coming home. Like being a kid in the summertime. Sunlight and clear ponds and shrieking laughter and grass stains. And as he got older, it increasingly mixed with nostalgia, not for things passed, but for the day when he would come to this house and she would not be here baking pies and smiling and smelling like the best parts of his childhood.

"Gram." He held her tight. "I missed you."

She squeezed him just as tight. "I missed you too, dear. And you are even skinnier than when you were here last." She pulled back to look at him. "You haven't been eating right, have you?" She looked at Mac. "What has him so worried?"

Before either he or Mac could answer, Gram grinned widely at Mac, seemingly forgetting her question. Much to Harm's immediate relief.

"Sarah, you look more beautiful every time I see you," She gave Mac a big hug, "It is so good to see you, child. I do hope my grandson has been treating you well?"

"He has," Mac gave Harm a glowing smile. Harm grinned. He put that smile there – that one, the one she had on right now – that one came only after he'd proposed.

"Good. Now why haven't you been eating?" This she directed at Harm. She then gave Mac a critical once over. "You, too." She tsked. "Alright, in with you. I'm glad I made extra for our Thanksgiving meal today. And you two had better clean both your plates," She ushered them into the house, taking Mac's hand. As soon as she did, Harm watched his grandmother go still.

She slowly lifted Mac's hand, and then stared at it.

Her jaw dropped open. She looked at Harm.

"This is the ring your father gave your mother."

Harm nodded, grinning from ear to ear, as he watched Gram's reaction.

Gram looked at Mac with tears in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

She looked to Harm, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks. "I am so proud of you."

Harm swallowed hard at her words; getting a little teary himself at the emotion in his grandmother's voice.

She turned to Mac. "And you, oh," She wrapped her arms around Mac, "This is so wonderful. I am so – this is just wonderful!"

Mac looked at Harm, while she hugged Gram, and Harm could see the tears in her eyes as well. He walked up to Mac and Gram as they embraced, and joined in their hug.

"Oh, Harm," Gram said, her voice trembling, "You two have made my old heart so happy."

--  
Rabb Farm  
1704 Local  
One massive meal later...

"Sarah," Gram called to Mac from where she sat on the couch, knitting in hand. "Why don't you start a fire here while Harm finishes up with the dishes."

"Of course, Gram. Let me just hand these glasses over to Harm," Mac said, halfway to the kitchen, glasses in hand.

"This is the last of it," She deposited the glasses by the sink, where Harm was scrubbing away. "I'm going to start a fire for Gram."

Harm nodded absently, lost deep in thought. She would admit to getting increasingly worried about the state he was in over telling his grandmother about Sergei.

"I can't put this off any longer," He muttered, more to himself than to her.

"Harm," She put her hand on his arm to get his attention. When he looked at her, she stood on her toes and give him a slow, lingering kiss. "Love you," She murmured against his lips.

He watched her as she pulled back. His stare as intense as it was indecipherable kept her in place.

"What is it?' She whispered, feeling somehow that anything louder would shatter the space around them.

Instead of replying, he leaned down and returned her kiss with one of his own, his tenderness hitching her breath.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Always." She replied. With one last squeeze of his arm and a lingering look, she made her way back to the living room, and to the fire place. She took her time, kneeling by the hearth, starting a slow, steady blaze. She felt that Gram wanted to talk to her, and she also sensed that Gram's usual insight would not fail her.

So how would she hide from Harm's grandmother that she was swinging between terror and elation at the thought of tying herself to Harm for the rest of her life?

"Can I get you some tea, Gram?" Mac asked, once the fire was lit, as she stood up.

"I'm fine. Have a seat, dear." Gram patted the couch next to her.

Mac wiped her hands on her jeans and did as Gram asked. Here it comes.

"What's the matter, dear?" Gram asked, setting aside her knitting.

Mac held her breath, looking at her hands because she knew that her eyes would give her away.

"You and Harm have been far too quiet for a newly engaged couple." Mac's head shot up at that. Relief and worry battled in her mind – relief that she hadn't given herself away, worry about the news Harm was going to tell Gram—

"Gram," Harm was standing in the doorway to the living room. Mac and Gram both looked at him. He entered the room and made his way to the couch. "There's something I've been ... I need to tell you."

Mac watched his expression, and her heart went out to him. She was about to excuse herself so Harm could have some privacy when talking to Gram. But when he sat down between Gram and her, his hand sought hers out. She stayed in place.

"What is it, dear?" Gram looked from Harm to Mac. "You look so serious."

Harm swallowed, Mac squeezed his hand.

"I was assigned a case in Russia some weeks ago. While I was there, I met a young man – he's in the Russian Army – named Sergei. Sergei Zhukov. He knew dad."

Gram's eyes darkened with an oft-remembered grief. Harm let go of Mac, and took Gram's hands in his.

"Sergei carried a picture of dad. Turns out he – Sergei – is..."

"Is what, Harm?" Her voice was shaking.

"I don't know how to say this ... but, well ... Sergei is dad's son."

It seemed the entire room was holding its breath. Mac watched Harm's face, then Gram's. She felt so out of place, an intruder in a family moment.

"Son." Gram echoed, looking blankly at Harm.

He nodded, his eyes not leaving his grandmother's face.

The suffocating intensity of the moment was shattered by the ringing of Harm's cell. All three jumped at the noise.

Harm quickly took the phone out of his pocket and turned it off without looking at the caller display. He then tossed the phone on the coffee table. Almost immediately, Mac's phone started ringing. She frowned as she reached into her pocket for her phone. Someone was trying to reach them. She silently asked Harm if it was okay for her to take this – it could be urgent. He nodded.

She stood up, "Excuse me," She said as she checked the caller ID. Harriet's cell number was on display. Her heart stopped beating: Harriet was due.

"MacKenzie," She answered.

"Colonel, this is Mikey," The younger man's voice was agitated, rooting Mac in place. "I tried calling the Commander—"

"Is everything alright, Mikey?" Her heart started beating at a painful pace.

"Harriet's in labour, Ma'am. She's on her way to the hospital." His sentences were running into each other, and she realized he wasn't agitated, but excited. Mac breathed a sigh of relief as Mikey rambled on, "I'm watching AJ. Bud asked me to call you and the Commander. I hope I'm not disturbing—"

"Of course not, Mikey." She hurried to assure him. "How is Harriet?"

"She was okay, Ma'am," He said immediately, and then hesitated, "I mean, I think she was. It all sounded very painful."

Mac was torn. She wanted to head back to DC, but they could hardly leave after the bombshell they'd dropped on Gram. "Listen, Mikey. Harm and I are in Pennsylvania—"

"I know, Ma'am. Bud told me, he just wanted me to tell you, I mean, sorry for interrupting you, Ma'am."

Mac could only laugh. It seemed Mikey got as flustered when excited as Bud did.

"That's fine, Mikey. We'll try and head back tomorrow. Can you keep us updated?"

"Of course, Ma'am. I'll keep you posted."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Ma'am."

"Will you be okay with AJ?"

"Yes, we're just fine."

"Call me if you need anything," Mac offered.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."

Mac disconnected the line, a slow smile forming on her face. Baby Sarah was on her way. She grinned, still awed by the fact that Bud and Harriet wanted to name their daughter after her. She turned to Harm and Gram, suddenly remembering that she wasn't alone in the room, and her smile faded at the look of ... she didn't know what to call it, on Gram's face.

"Is Harriet okay?" Harm's anxiety registered for the first time.

"Yes," She hastened to reassure him, "She's on her way to the hospital. Mikey is watching AJ."

Harm stood up abruptly, and then stopped himself. He looked at Gram. Mac could literally see the struggle play out on his face.

"You should go, Harm, Sarah." Gram said, her voice subdued, her thoughts far away.

"Gram, I can't leave you like this..."

"Harm, go. I won't break," She insisted, her eyes coming to focus on the present. "I need to be alone with this," She added, more to herself.

"Gram—"

"I'll be fine," She cut him off, "Don't worry. You need to be with your friends."

"But Gram, it's Thanksgiving—"

"Harmon Rabb Jr." She stated firmly. Even Mac straightened at her tone of voice. "Do not give me lip."

Harm and Gram stared each other down. Mac thought he was very brave for even trying. From the way this exchange was going, Mac was convinced she would rather stare down a two-star than Gram.

"But, Gram..." He said, relenting to her wishes. His plea came out in a near-whine, the first time Mac had heard such a tone from Harm.

"But nothing." Gram stood, patting Harm's hand, obviously distracted, only half-heartedly engaging with them. Eager, it seemed, for them to leave. "Let me pack you some food for the ride back; I'll make turkey sandwiches."

As Gram made her way across the room, Mac thought she finally figured out where Harm got his formidable emotional reticence from. Gram was as great at giving out advice, at reading other people's feelings as she was as hoarding hers all to herself. Very much like her grandson.

They both watched Gram disappear into the kitchen.

"We should pack our stuff," Harm said quietly. She knew from his tone that she would do better to keep her own counsel.

Mac nodded, following Harm up the stairs. She didn't know why, but the scene that had just unfolded in front of her made her want to cry.

--  
Harriet's Hospital Room  
The next morning  
0925 Local

Mac entered Harriet's hospital room, Harm close behind her. They had come to the hospital immediately upon their return from Gram's, and only went home to sleep because the admiral issued a direct order at 2230. They had come back as soon as they got the call from Bud that Harriet had delivered and baby Sarah would be ready to meet them.

"Ma'am!" Bud exclaimed, looking both exhausted and happy. Harriet gave Mac a beaming smile, looking even more exhausted and at least as happy as her husband. A bundle of pink was nestled in her arms.

Mac's heart skipped in anticipation of this meeting. She made her way to the bedside, holding Harm's hand tightly in her own.

"Ma'am, Sir, meet Sarah," Harriet shifted her arms to give Mac and Harm a clearer view. "Sarah, meet your godparents, Aunt Mac and Uncle Harm."

Little Sarah shifted in her warm cocoon of blankets, her large blue eyes peering up from her still wrinkled skin.

Tears filled Mac's eyes, the most absolute joy, her heart. "She's beautiful," Mac whispered, awed.

"That she is. Harriet, Bud," Harm said to the proud parents, "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Sir," Harriet was glowing, underneath all that exhaustion. She turned to Mac, "Would you like to hold her?"

Mac nodded, gratefully accepting her goddaughter. She looked at the treasure in her arms.

"Hi there, Sarah. It's so good to meet you," She cooed, trying to keep her voice level. She ran her finger along Sarah's cheek. The baby turned her face towards the finger, shifting her arms and legs before settling comfortably in Mac's arms.

"Hey there, Princess," Harm whispered, he wrapped one arm around Mac. He slipped his index finger in Sarah's grip, and Mac had to smile at how large his digit looked in comparison. "You're going to break a lot of hearts aren't you?" He grinned at his goddaughter, who stared back at the couple, mesmerized.

Mac watched the baby in her arms as Harm chatted with the little bundle. She'd told Harriet on her wedding day that she and Bud would be as happy as any two people had a right to be. She'd meant it, had been convinced of it. But she'd always wondered who such a privilege was reserved for. Having the right to be happy and actually being so were two very different things ... It seemed unrealistic to expect that she could have a share of this. And what about Harm? Right now, he sounded genuinely cheerful, as she'd known he would be upon meeting his goddaughter. In the car during the ride over, however, he'd been distant, quiet and withdrawn. Brooding.

Mac sighed: Gram's reaction to Sergei was, she guessed, going on the list of things Harm would not talk about until he was ready. She looked at baby Sarah as she remembered the scene that had unfolded in Gram's living room.

What a world to bring children into, full of heartbreak and sadness, where people all clutched to threads of hope, to quickly fading dreams, pretending happiness was something that was within their reach. As if things could be so simple.

She prayed with every ounce of her fragile faith that the little girl in her arms would have a life with more happiness than sadness, more joy than pain. And if anyone hurt her, they'd have one pissed off marine on their scent. That, Mac could promise.

--  
A/N: I know what happens in the show with regards to Harriet's pregnancy, but I just couldn't bring myself to write it. And I really like the idea of Mac having a namesake.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: Three parts to 'Plans' left including this one. The thing is I have the quadrequel (I know, totally made up that word) and the potential quintequel (made that one up too) planned out in my head. I have no time to write them right now, and likely won't for the next few months. Just remember that 'this' Harm and Mac are not being retired. I like how they're turning out far too much, and it would be a shame to put them to bed – figuratively speaking. Thank you in advance for your patience with me.

--  
Friday Evening  
One week later

"Hurry, Harm," Mac said over her shoulder as they walked to his apartment. "Your parents will be here soon."

"Not for another two hours, Mac. Their plane lands at 2100."

"I have to set up dinner." She sounded harried. He wished she wouldn't worry, there really was no need.

"The meat's been marinating all day, the vegetable skewers are in the fridge. Don't worry, Mac, you've got this dinner planned out like a finely tuned op."

She was pleased by the compliment. "I am a Marine," She acknowledged in that tone of superior self-assurance that made him want to find a private room and get busy with her.

He laughed. "And two hours is plenty of time to charge the camera and hook up the printer," He said, indicating the box in his arms.

"I was thinking, we should take a bunch of pictures and put them in an album for Gram. I bet she thinks she doesn't have nearly enough photos of you."

His smile faded at the mention of his grandmother: she was refusing to talk to him about his dad and Sergei, and he didn't know what to do about it. Gram's stubbornness was formidable.

"Harm," Mac's hand on his arm pulled him away from his dark thoughts. Her eyes were full of remorse. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, Mac," He forced a smile. Besides, if he thought about it, her idea was a great one. It would be just the thing to cheer Gram up. "It's a great idea. We could even take some shots of little AJ and baby Sarah." He was warming up to the idea, getting excited even. It was quite perfect. "Gram would like to see our godkids. She's a big fan of baby pictures – I can't imagine what she'll be like when she gets her first grandkid!"

He laughed at the picture that conjured, thought he could've sworn had Mac tensed.

"What is it, Mac?" He set the box down by the front door, looking at her as she dug through her purse for the keys.

"Nothing," She shook her head, "Just a knot in my shoulders. Today felt like a really long day." She slid the key in the lock and unlatched the door. He wasn't surprised about her being tight in the shoulders: she'd been fretting about his parents visit since she'd woken up this morning.

"I could massage those kinks right out," He whispered into her ear, setting his hands on her shoulders. He began to knead, nuzzling into her neck.

"Harm," She said, her breath catching at his ministrations. It was a reaction he always thoroughly enjoyed. "We don't have time..."

"We have two hours," He turned her around in his arms, and kissed her in an effort to change her mind.

"Hm," She ran her fingers through his hair, while he began unbuttoning her jacket in the hallway – a definite bonus of being the only person living on his floor. "36 minutes," She bargained.

"45," He countered as he turned the doorknob and pushed the front door open.

"39 minutes," Her hands slid over his shoulders, down his arms as they entered his apartment.

"You drive a hard bargain, French fry," He pulled back to look at her face, to see her eyes darken for him. He made a move to shut the door, even as he leaned down to kiss her again.

"Wait, Harm. The printer and camera," She mumbled around his kiss.

A slight movement behind her alerted Harm, and he looked up to see his mom and Frank standing in his living room, watching them with unconcealed amusement. His jaw dropped.

"Mom," He stuttered, "Frank."

Mac turned around swiftly, and shoved him away from her. "Um," She re-fastened her jacket, reddening to the roots of her hair, even worse at being coherent than he was.

His mom, however, was unfazed, and crossed the living room to join them. "Darlings! It's so good to see you both! Our flight plans changed slightly, so we're early. I do hope you don't mind. I was just too excited!"

"Of course not, Ma'am," Mac said with admirably smooth delivery.

Harm would've smiled at Mac's retreat to formality, except he was feeling rather off-kilter himself. He'd gone almost forty years without his mom catching him making out with a girl. Shame to lose that record.

"Oh, Sarah," Trish pulled Mac into a massive hug. "I am so happy." She held Mac tight, getting all choked up.

"Thank you, Trish," Mac returned the hug.

Trish pulled back and gave Mac a stern look.

"Mom," Mac quickly amended, looking slightly self-conscious.

Trish looked at the ring on Mac's finger. "You wear it so well." They shared a smile.

Harm observed the scene, wondering at the apparent closeness between his mother and Mac. He remembered Mac telling him something about a talk she'd had with his mother on their last visit. It must have been quite the chat...

"Congratulations, son." Frank clapped Harm on the shoulder, and took his hand in both of his. "I'm proud of you, and I know your father would be as well."

Harm grinned. He tightened his hands around Frank's before giving in to his inclination to hug his step-dad. "Thank you," He said, "Your blessing means a lot to me, to us." It was their turn to share a meaningful smile.

Trish then hugged Harm, while Frank gathered Mac into an embrace.

"Welcome to the family, Sarah." He said, smiling warmly at her. "This only makes it official; for Trish and myself, you've been a part of this family for a while already."

Mac held Frank tight, "Thank you, Frank." She pulled back, her hands on his shoulders, eyes shining with excitement. "I thought we could have a barbecue for dinner. I've been marinating ribs all day!"

Frank's smile was a mile wide. "That sounds perfect! I'll help you set up the grill."

Mac nodded, "Let me just change."

She promptly headed to the bedroom, while Harm took off his coat, retrieved the printer from the hallway, and asked his parents about their trip. Not even three minute later, Mac re-emerged wearing jeans and a thick sweater. Harm admired how appealing she looked, and was reminded of what he'd been all set to do before he found his parents in his apartment. Mac seemed oblivious to the course of his thoughts, however, as she led Frank to the kitchen.

"The food's in here," She told Frank as they disappeared into the kitchen. Harm had to laugh, sharing a grin with his mother. He hadn't seen her so excited since the morning after he'd proposed.

"We can set up the grill on Harm's roof," She said as they re-emerged, armed with the grill and trays of marinated meat and vegetable skewers.

"Harm," Mac turned to him, all giddy, "Would you mind cutting up the salad and laying the table?" She then said to Trish without waiting for an answer, "We'll be on the roof, if you'd like to join us. Although it is rather cold out."

"I'll help Harm in here," Trish answered promptly. "My bones are not used to these low temperatures."

Mac grinned. "Okay, Tr—" She stopped herself just in time, and instead said in a slightly self-conscious tone, "Mom. We'll see you in a little bit."

They watched as Mac and Frank headed out of the apartment and to the roof, laden with their spoils, chattering as they went. Frank grabbed his coat on the way out.

"She really is keen on grilling, isn't she?" Trish marvelled. "It's so cold out."

"Mac insisted," Harm explained, sharing in his mother's wonder at their significant others' determination to go out onto the roof in this weather. "She wanted to grill for Frank, and the weather wasn't going to stand in her way."

"It's very sweet of her," Trish said, looking just very happy in general. "And Frank certainly doesn't mind." She turned to Harm. "Shall I help you with the salad and laying the table?"

"No need, Mom, you can just relax."

She ignored him, and made her way to the kitchen. He followed.

"Have you spoken with Gram?" She asked over her shoulder.

Harm sighed. "She got pretty mad at me on the phone last time for pushing her. So I'm just giving her some time."

Trish stopped, and so did Harm, barely in time to keep from colliding into her. She turned back to study him, "I'm sorry, Harm. You know Gram loves you."

Harm nodded. "I know." It still made him feel terrible, though.

"Harm, dear," Trish rubber a hand up and down his back. "She's having a hard time with this."

It was Harm's turn to study his mother, "You spoke with her. She talked to you, didn't she?"

Trish nodded. "She's upset – not with you," She was quick to assure him. "She's upset with your father."

"With Dad?" Harm asked, incredulous. "Why?"

"For giving up. Much as you were," She reminded him. Harm reigned in his automatic defence of his father. Force of habit after all these years. And one he wasn't ready to give up, he sometimes thought, when he dared give it thought.

"It was so many years later..." He justified, "Hell, life with us probably seemed less real than what he was living."

"She knows that, Harm, but that doesn't stop her from hurting. Losing a child is a terrible thing." Trish took a breath, watching Harm carefully. It put him on his guard. "She's also upset for what she sees as his poor treatment of us, of you and me. As far as Gram is concerned, it was his responsibility to come find us."

Harm nodded, but couldn't bring himself to comment on that. He sometimes wasn't sure what he felt on the topic. One thing he knew for sure: what he'd said to Mac still held. He would never give up trying to get back to her. Only death would stop him, and not without one hell of a fight.

"Come on," His mom coaxed, "Let's get the salad and the table ready."

Harm nodded, following his mother to the kitchen. "How are you doing?" He asked. "About everything, I mean."

"It's sinking in." She said as she took vegetables out of the fridge. "Like you said: his sense of what was real, where was real had to have undergone enough stress. I no longer had a hold on him after all that time."

Her words and the tone of her voice – like she'd just accepted it – made his heart hurt. He concentrated on laying the table, not wanting to deal with all of this.

They worked in silence, cutlery clinking as he set the table, the knife blade steadily thudding against the chopping board as she cut up a salad.

"So, are you and Sarah thinking of moving into a house or an apartment once you're married?" She said as she rinsed the lettuce. "Or will you be moving into one of yours for the time being?"

"Actually," He answered, folding the napkins, "We haven't discussed it yet."

"Really?" She turned to look at him. "When's the date for the wedding?"

They hadn't discussed that either. And suddenly Harm felt nervous. Should they have discussed this? They should have. Why hadn't they?

"With all that's happened recently, Mom, we just..." He trailed off. It sounded weak to his own ears.

"Harm, honey, you can't keep putting your life on hold. It isn't fair to either you or Sarah."

He did not like where this was going, what this was telling him. "We're also waiting to hear on where we'll be stationed next. We might not even be in DC..."

"So? You can still plan your wedding, but hold off on getting a new apartment or a house or condo." She studied him carefully. "Work will sort itself out."

He looked at fork he was holding, and remembered the fleeting sense of worry he sometimes picked up from Mac. He wasn't sure of its reason, had thought that maybe he was projecting his own worry over Gram on her. She had said yes to marrying him, after all. He was just imagining it.

"We'll have a date, mom," He gave her reassuring smile. "And I promise you'll be the first to know." He'd bring it up with Mac after his parents left. He grinned, actually excited to go about figuring out the details. He laughed, who would've thought he'd actually be excited about marriage, let alone planning a wedding?

She nodded, satisfied, and he saw her lip curl in a smile.

"What?" He asked, automatically wary of that expression.

"French fry?" She asked, barely holding back a laugh, smiling so widely Harm thought her face might break.

He felt the heat creep up his face. He cleared his throat. "It's a long story."

She laughed outright. "I bet it is!"

"Mom!" He exclaimed, both exasperated and incredibly embarrassed.

She laughed even harder, and wiped tears from her eyes. "I think it's adorable."

Harm rolled his eyes.

"I have never seen you so ... mushy."

"I am not mushy!" He protested.

Much to his vexation, she kept laughing.

"Just make the salad, Mom," He huffed, and poured all his focus onto laying the table.

--  
Sunday Evening

They were sitting comfortably together on the couch at her place, watching the National Geographic Channel. Trish and Frank had left earlier this afternoon, following their quick visit. It had been great to see them. Frank had been blown away by her ribs. Trish had been beyond excited about their engagement, and had asked all kinds of questions Mac really hadn't given thought to.

That last part had been unsettling.

But at least they were gone now, and Mac could enjoy just sitting here with Harm and not worry about whether she knew what she was getting herself into.

"So, what kind of wedding do you want?" He asked her, suddenly breaking their comfortable cocoon of silence.

She turned to look at him from where she was leaning back against his chest, startled by the unexpectedness of the question. Trish's visit had obviously planted seeds in his head. She'd thought she'd successfully evaded all of Trish's questions about the wedding and their plans. But apparently that wasn't the end of it.

"What?" She sat up straight on the sofa.

"What kind of wedding do you want?" He repeated, grinning. That gleam of anticipation he'd been wearing since he proposed was out in full force.

She tried not to look as freaked out as she felt. They hadn't talked about details. They were waiting to for suitable transfer opportunities to arise, so one of them could move out of the admiral's chain of command.

"What kind of wedding do you want?" She turned the tables, hoping to buy time and find calm.

"Mac." He pulled her onto his lap. "I just got used to the idea that I'm actually going to get married. I haven't exactly given the type of wedding much thought."

"You are such a romantic." She shook her head, laughing despite herself.

He grinned. "And you're stuck with me." He pointed to the ring on her finger. "You already said yes."

She looked down at the ring. "I did," And then back at him, with a hesitant trepidation. "You're stuck with me, too."

"Not stuck, Mac." He slid his fingers along her cheek. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

She watched him for a moment, and then leaned into him with her head in the crook of his neck. Deep breath. She loved him. He made her happy. They were getting married.

"We should wait until one of us transfers before planning," She said, soaking in the smell of his skin.

"Gram and mom keep asking for a date." His hand rubbed smooth circles on her back, his breath whispered in hair.

And his words bore down on her, tightened around her chest in a tight vice, the screws turning, constricting.

"You okay?" He asked, voice suddenly tinged with worry.

She nodded quickly. Get it together. She loved Harm. "Yes. Just..."

"What?" He shifted so he could see her face better. She schooled her expression.

"We said we'd wait until one of us was offered a good post, one that fits." She dissembled, not ready to give voice to her true worries. Partly because she didn't know how to put those into words, wasn't ready to say all this out loud.

"We did, but we could start planning the wedding."

The vice tightened. Her whole entire life, vested in one other person. She didn't have the strength for this kind of faith, she realized. She thought she did, but...

"It's 2201." She found safety in the solidity of time, the placid reliability of this thing greater than human temperament. A constant.

"So?"

She pulled back to look at him. "You have to go home."

"What?" Surprise flitted onto his face, settled into the slight wrinkles around his eyes.

"You have court first thing in the morning," She reminded him, relieved that she would get some time to herself tonight. "And no clean uniforms here."

"Dammit." He dropped his head back against the couch. "We forgot to stop by the dry cleaners after work."

"C'mon." She sat up, straightening her clothes. "It's late."

"I can wake up early and go to my place to get ready."

"No, you can't wake up early. We both know that."

"I could try," He wheedled.

She gave him a look full of scepticism.

He sighed. "Alright, alright." He stood up, bringing her along with him to the door. "I can't wait until neither of us has to leave at night."

_...neither of us has to leave_... It was the wanting to leave that troubled her.

"At the beach." He said suddenly as he slipped on his coat at the door.

"What?"

"A wedding at the beach." He brought her into the circle of his arms. "Sand in our toes, wind in your hair."

It was incredibly romantic, and the way he said it made her suspect he had given it at least some thought. She really did love him, and he loved her.

"Sounds perfect," She buried her face in his chest to calm her thudding heart. What was wrong with her.

"Goodnight, Mac." He gave her a kiss at the door, and she returned it, needing reassurance without saying the words. "Sleep tight, French fry."

With another quick kiss, he was gone. The latch clicked shut behind him.

Mac leaned her forehead against the door. What was wrong with her? She was sure she was developing an ulcer, eating away at her stomach lining because of how freaked out she was about getting married. She decided to go for a run. That would calm her down.

--

Two weeks later

Harm watched Mac as they cleared up the dinner dishes. Something was preoccupying her. Something had been for a while now, at least a couple of weeks. Actually, he didn't know how long this had been going on for, and that was his fault. Be that as it may, he couldn't figure out what was bothering her. Initially, he'd thought it was work. They'd all been busy at JAG, and Mac even more so. But since when had work-related stress done such a number on her? In fact, he'd always admired her ability to handle stress.

And she was getting progressively more worked up as time passed, which led him to think that she was worrying about how long it was taking for their requests for transfer to pass. They both knew the military's wheels didn't have the speediest of cogs. But then, Mac did worry about this kind of thing, about how her personal life would affect her professional one, more than he did.

Harm sighed. She was being tight-lipped about it, though; old habits were hard to break. Might as well broach the topic. Hopefully she would talk about it, and not bite his head off.

"Are you okay?" He asked, putting away the last of the food in the fridge.

"What?" She stopped wiping her hands on the towel, and looked up, startled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He studied her carefully. Definitely keeping something from him.

"You seem ... off."

She resumed drying her hands. "Harm, I'm fine."

He thought that maybe he hadn't been as attentive towards her as he should due to his preoccupation with Gram, who wasn't talking with him, but wanted him to talk to her. About how he felt. Thing is, it still gnawed at him, and he didn't know how to feel about it. His father having another family, his guilt at how he'd treated Frank and his mother. His concern for his grandmother. His preoccupation with Sergei's weekly updates. And in it he was losing sight of Mac.

"Listen," He took her hand in his, setting the dish towel aside. "I might not have been the most ... attentive recently."

"What are you talking about?" She looked genuinely surprised, which confused him. Surely she had noticed...

"Well, since Sergei, and mom, and then Gram..."

"Harm!" She protested. "That is not true."

"It is." He insisted. "Let me make it up to you."

"There is nothing to make up."

"I've been worrying about my family so much..." He trailed off at the protest forming on her lips, and decided to change tracks. "How about I take you out to dinner this Friday? We can leave for Grams' place a bit later on Saturday morning. We have some days until Christmas."

"Harm. You don't owe me anything. I understand. This is important."

She was being sincere; her eyes told him the truth of it. He pulled her in for a hug. She was truly remarkable. She'd been so patient and understanding with him. He didn't know how he could've done this without her support.

"And when we go to Gram's..." He hesitated. "I mean ... she'll want to talk about it."

"And so should you."

"It's not that, it's just ... I wanted our first Christmas together to be special, happy." He was struggling to make sense, all through his own uncertainty on whether he was ready to talk about this with Gram. "Not weighed down by—"

She didn't let him finish, pulling back to look him in the eye. "Spending it with you and Gram is all that matters. And think of the New Year. Remember our phone call, last year?"

"How could I forget?" He smiled down at her.

"Well, then. It'll be perfect. Same continent. Same city. Same room."

"Same bed," He couldn't help but add.

She laughed.

"Thanks, Mac. For understanding."

"Don't be silly, Harm." She gave him a tight squeeze.

"And we'll have a lifetime of Christmases together, won't we?" He rubbed her nose against hers.

She nodded as she looked up at him. He thought there was something in her eyes ... doubt? Worry? Before he could question it, she stood up on her toes and gave him a kiss that ignited flickers of heat along his skin.

"Mac." His hands slipped beneath her shirt of their own accord.

"If you really insist," Her fingers unfastened his shirt buttons, "You can start making it up to me now, Harm."

He definitely could do that.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

--

The next Friday...

Mac watched him as he stood at the Wall, tiny white snowflakes drifting around him, landing on his hair and shoulders. She had this terrible foreboding, this sense that something terrible was going to happen. For the life of her, she couldn't shake it. Although this time, she was sure she was justified in her worry: Harm had found out his brother was missing, and he'd come here. They were meant to have a dinner date tonight – one hour and 13 minutes ago – but instead he'd come here and stood in the cold.

And now, standing a few feet away from him, she could see in the set of his shoulders that he'd already made a decision about what he was going to do.

But she would go up to him, stand next to him, and ask anyways. It would, she thought, make things easier for her in the long run. So she approached him.

"Hey" She studied his profile, rubbing her hand between his shoulder blades.

His glove-clad fingers smoothed over his father's name. "I have to go find him."

She stared at him, unsure what he meant by that tone of voice. There was a finality to it. "Harm, have you talked to Clay? To the Admiral?"

"There's nothing they can do. I have to do this."

And what did he mean by that?

"The admiral granted you leave?"

There was a pause. His eyes fixed on hers, wary.

"I resigned."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Two words. And they cut her in half. Her hand fell to her side.

"You resigned," She repeated.

He nodded slowly, intently. "I put my resignation in the admiral's inbox."

She couldn't think to say anything, too busy digesting this. He'd resigned.

"Are you going to say anything?" He prodded, sounding both impatient and worried.

He'd resigned, and he hadn't said anything about it to her.

"You've already made your decision, Harm." She needed to get away from him, to nurse this hurt, this rejection, alone. It hurt as much as she'd thought it would. "Nothing I say would have any bearing."

"It would make this easier."

"No," She shook her head, stared at the ground beneath their feet. "It wouldn't."

He reached a hand out, settling it on her arm.

"I'm coming back, Mac." He sounded confused by her reaction.

She wondered what all this meant. She knew Harm. He wasn't the kind to go through the proper channels or sit back and let someone else do what needed to be done, even if it was their job and not his. She had admired this part of him. But now, when it came to the brass tacks of life, things weren't so clear cut. He talked of having kids ... and then what? Would he leave them all behind as well to ride solo into whatever obsession-of-the-day claimed him? Could she live with that? Should their kids live with that?

She thought of Uncle Matt who was in jail, who'd left, who was taken from her life, because his principles rated higher than anything else. Suddenly, comparisons between Harm and Uncle Matt didn't seem so shiny smooth with heroism. She was a fool. Harm would leave in this same way, would be taken away from her by the system deciding it could no longer bend to his will, or by death, and he wouldn't think twice about it. She didn't know if she could bear it.

She watched him as he watched her. Duty and the Navy ordering him away was one thing; his own will was something entirely different. Had she ever rated high enough in someone's life that her feelings would come first? She immediately chastised herself for the selfish thought. Of course Sergei's life was more important than ... anything else. She just wished he'd looked for another way, one that didn't seem so impetuous and thoughtless and grand. She wished he'd just talked to her. She would never have demanded he stay, but at least she would've known where she stood with him.

The engagement ring she was wearing suddenly made her finger itch.

She'd let him go, not that he was even ever hers to let go, and while he was gone she'd have to think about this. And when – if – he came back, she'd have to figure it out.

Because suddenly being alone seemed a lot more appealing than being left out of the equation altogether.

The irony of it wasn't lost on her: before meeting Harm, she wouldn't even have thought she deserved more.

"Good luck, Harm." She kissed his cheek, and even that was more than she wanted to touch of him right now. She needed space.

"That's it?" He was startled. She almost scoffed at the irony of his reaction.

"What else do you want?" It came out sounding more defensive than she would've liked.

"I..." He shrugged, at a loss. "I guess I don't know."

"Take care of yourself." She turned to leave.

"Wait." He held her wrist. "You make it sound so final."

She sighed. "I guess I just need time to process this."

"Mac. I'm coming back," He repeated, insistent.

She hoped so, but he shouldn't make promises he couldn't keep. She thought he'd shed his father's ghost. Apparently not. It had just assumed another form.

"Good luck finding Sergei, Harm. I'll be here when you get back. Be safe." She tugged her wrist free of his grasp and headed back to her car. She couldn't look back.

To be honest, she'd known it would end. What she'd had with Harm, it had been too good to last. It had been great, though, while it had lasted. Yes, she'd known it all along, but this was one of those times where being right felt nothing short of terrible.

--

She shifted in her sleep. Something felt ... wrong. Unexpected. She had gone to bed alone ... She opened her eyes and saw that Harm lying next to her on the bed, propped up on his elbow, watching her quietly, intently.

She frowned, tendrils of sleep still clouding her mind. There had been something about a resignation and his brother ... Had it been a dream?

"Harm?" She blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. Her eyelashes felt crusty, her skin tight with dried tear trails.

Not a dream then.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her pyjamas, not wanting him to see, already knowing it was too late.

The silent hurt in his eyes had her wishing she hadn't woken up at all, that this too could be a dream.

"You didn't say anything." He accused, still watching her with that unnerving hurt.

"It wouldn't have mattered."

"Mac."

She buried her face in her pillow. She did not want to have this conversation.

"What are you doing here?" The question occurred to her. He'd resigned only to spend the night watching her sleep instead of taking the first flight out? "Was your flight delayed?"

"Webb found Sergei. He's in a Chechen prison camp. And the admiral hadn't yet processed my resignation."

"Is Sergei alright?" She turned to look at him.

"None the worse for the wear." His expression had not shifted since she'd woken up. "Nothing can be done, except wait. But," Here he exhaled a long sigh of relief. "But he's safe and found."

"You should send Clay something ... What do spooks consider to be good thank-you gifts anyways?" She really didn't want to have the conversation he was going to push for, the one she could see waiting in his eyes.

"Mac." His fingers brushed over the dried tear tracks criss-crossing her cheeks.

She took a deep breath and forced herself not to move away even though she needed room from him. Might as well get this over with. She thought she'd have had more time to gather her words and tuck away her regrets.

"Why didn't you talk to me?" He asked.

"You resigned without telling me. What good would talking have done." Her eyes held his, waiting for an answer that would let her believe she'd blown this way out of proportion.

"Mac..." He trailed off. A frown creased his brow. "You've never told me why your friends call you Mac." He suddenly said.

"What?" This time she didn't hide her confusion or impatience. She sat up, and leaned back against the headboard.

He sat up as well, arm's length away from her. It let her breathe easier. She'd been ready to spend the next few days or weeks or a lifetime without him near, and his sudden presence was throwing her for a loop.

But he'd stayed because Sergei was safe, and he wanted to know why her friends called her Mac. She was getting very frustrated.

"I wish you'd just told me you were upset," He reached for her, but she moved away.

"Right. Because the idea of my fiancé dropping his life to go off half-cocked on an unauthorized search wouldn't be upsetting."

"You came with me last time."

"No one can stop you when you set your mind to something. I didn't want you getting killed."

He paused, and so did she, surprised by how callous her remark came out sounding.

"Why is it so different this time?" He made no move to touch her, but his words were soft as any caress. She refused to let them have any effect, knowing this conversation was important.

"You said you wanted kids." She looked him in the eye. "You said you wanted to get married and settle down."

"I do." He frowned, no doubt wondering where this was heading. She could see the impatience in his eyes, could feel his anger winding. She ignored it.

"And then you drop everything to—"

"To keep my brother safe, Mac!" He exclaimed.

"He's in the army, Harm." She answered calmly, ignoring the frustration coiling around his words. "It comes with the territory. You're not his CO. Hell, you're not even fighting for the same country."

"So I just sit on my hands while he's missing," His tone was hard, his expression even more so.

"No. You wouldn't do such a thing."

He shook his head, thrown by her easy agreement. "Then what?"

"I just don't know if I can be the kind of person who sits by while you do these things without even cluing me in, or the kind of person who drops everything whenever you get obsessed over something so I can watch your six because you don't think these things through. I want stability in my life, Harm." She wanted that but didn't think she could have it. And he'd proved her right. "I've never had that, and I thought ... I mean..."

"You're not being fair," He accused.

"Life's not fair."

"C'mon, Mac. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe we aren't ready for this."

"What?" He whispered, shocked. She thought she heard the whoosh of air as his heart fell to his toes. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, unable to look at him.

"Maybe..."

He didn't let her finish. His anger radiated off his skin in waves, and she it took concerted effort on her part to keep from flinching.

"So you want me to just sit by and do nothing when my brother's life is in danger! I would do anything I could to keep him safe, Mac. I'd do the same for any friend, for family! You want me to change!" He accused, his words burning with resentment. "I won't do that, Mac."

"I don't want that!" She defended, her own anger rising. She had never asked that of him. Dammit, she thought he would at least talk to her, see her as a part of his life. A part that mattered. "I'm not the one who brought up marriage!" She turned to face him. "You were the one who said you were ready for this!"

"So now you don't want to get married!"

"This isn't about what I want!"

"You seem to be calling all the shots here, Mac! Come to think of it, you keep putting off talks about planning the wedding!"

"Like hell. It was your call to resign your commission. You didn't even say anything beforehand! And say we do get married. Say we have kids. Then what? You'll leave them too?"

Anger slid dark and silent into place on his face, his armour now firmly fixed, with her on the outside. She watched his control slip, and hated herself for this. But he had to realize...

"If you had any respect for me," His eyes were dark and cold. She had never seen him like this. "You would never have said that."

"Someone has to. Your actions have consequences—"

"That's enough." He ripped the covers off and climbed out of bed, his movements jerked with uncontrolled fury. He yanked on a pair of pants, hastily donning his clothes, throwing his things into his overnight bag, which had previously been tucked away under her bed.

Panic clenched her heart. Her throat tightened. She couldn't breathe.

"Don't—" She followed him out of bed, but then stopped herself. She couldn't make him stay. That fact had been made painfully clear at the wall. She would not cry.

She turned away before he could finish packing his things, and quickly walked into the bathroom, locking the door shut behind her. She leaned against the wood and tried to catch her breath. She didn't even know what she was feeling. She wanted to break something, she wanted to hide.

The sound of him pulling open drawers drifted through the closed door.

She flicked on the switch for the fan. It wasn't loud enough – she could still hear him packing. She hurried to the bathtub and turned the faucets. Water gushed out in a thick stream, hitting ceramic, filling the small washroom with noise. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, her eyes fixed on the tile floor. Just a few minutes, and it would be over.

--

One hour, six minutes, eighteen seconds.

She had locked herself in here one hour, six minutes and nineteen seconds ago.

It was immature. She didn't think she could explain her own reaction. Why did she lock herself in the bathroom like some weak female?

Because she'd panicked.

Dammit.

And why did she say that to him?

Because he needed to hear it. She'd been trying to convince herself that marriage meant something, she'd been trying to believe that maybe she could have that kind of meaning. She told herself things had changed between them. He'd seemed more settled, content, of late.

And then Sergei went missing and he was again the man she'd first met, obsessed and consumed and unconcerned with how his actions affected those around him.

Mac tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. Be honest, MacKenzie.

And because deep down she didn't think she could be the kind of happy Harm made her feel. Good things didn't happen to her, they didn't last. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Mac sighed. Now what.

First things first. She turned and shut off the faucet, the water now freezing cold. She stood up slowly, easing the kinks from sitting on the floor for one hour, twenty-eight minutes, four seconds.

Hand on the doorknob, Mac took a deep breath. Maybe this was just a fight. People fought all the time and walked out on each other and then came back, didn't they? But, god, what would she do the next time he dropped everything, including her.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open. How would she face him the next time they met? She stepped into the room, eyes fixed on the floor, heart beating in her ears, and told herself to look at the empty bed and bare closet and just get this over with.

Deep breath. She lifted her eyes...

...And found that he was still here, sitting on the bed, his back to her.

His head turned, almost absently, at the sound of the washroom door opening. When he saw her over his shoulder, his entire frame jumped to attention. He stood up quickly, awkwardly to face her.

She was frozen in front of the bathroom door. He'd stayed? But...

"Mac." He whispered, he walked around the bed, towards her. "Sarah."

He put his arms out in invitation, his heart reaching out to her. Without even giving it a thought, she stepped into his warmth and held him tight. The tears that she'd so carefully kept inside welled, and fell one by one.

"I thought you'd left," She sobbed, even though she hated to cry in front of anyone. Her fists clutched his shirt. "I thought..."

"I'm sorry," He said, hugging her fiercely. "I didn't ... I wouldn't..." His words were as confused and disjointed as hers.

"I'm sorry." She insisted, her tears soaking through his shirt. "I shouldn't have said that to you."

"No, Mac. I should have talked to you about it."

"I wouldn't have stopped you."

"I know." His hold on her tightened, he buried his face in her neck. "I know."

"I just ... I just..."

"I know."

--

She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Harm was sleeping soundly beside her. She, however, could not sleep. Too much thinking going on: she had overreacted to Harm's actions. She knew why, and she didn't like her reasons. She didn't like what it said about her.

She was so messed up. She needed to get a hold of all this, before it spiralled out of her control.

"Hey," His voice was rough with sleep. He slid his hand over her stomach, under her slip, and pulled her closer, nestling her into his side. "I can hear you thinking. It's making my dreams stressful," He teased.

She shrugged, her words burning to be heard. She needed to sort this out; she had promised him that she would, and yet here she was still pushing him away.

"I just wanted to matter enough for you to talk to me about it." She whispered, watching the faint shadows that were dancing across the ceiling.

"Mac..." He protested softly.

She fixed her gaze on the patterns cast by the wan moonlight. "I'm having a hard time believing I can have all of this." Honesty was hard to come by, especially when he was touching her. "When you said you'd resigned, without saying anything beforehand to me, it just confirmed what I'd convinced myself of all along. I don't deserve this."

Sadness filled him; she could feel it in his touch. She could feel it drip from his fingers and through her skin.

"Don't ever think that's true, Sarah." His grip on her waist tightened.

"I can't help it." She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to turn away from him and hide her weakness.

He pulled her against him, his arms surrounding her.

"Don't," He repeated.

"When I walked away at the wall," She mumbled into his chest. "I thought I'd been right all along. It wouldn't last. And I was relieved because it meant I didn't have to wonder, to wait for everything to collapse around me."

He rubbed his cheek against her hair.

"I'm sorry, Harm." She burrowed closer to him. "I promised you I'd work harder to trust you."

"Hey, it's alright, Mac. I should've talked to you about it. Trust is a two-way thing."

She looked up at him. "I would have told you to go."

He nodded. "I know."

"If we'd had kids, and this had happened, what would you have done?"

"I don't know."

She laughed, even though there was no humour in this. "Yes, you do."

He kissed her hair, saying nothing.

I know too, she thought. A deep sadness filled her; she tried to fight it. I just have to accept it.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Don't own'em

A/N: All done! But this part is nice and long. Thank you for staying with this story, and thank you especially for reviewing. I suspect I enjoy reading your words a lot more than you do mine.

--

Harm steered the car down the winding country roads, past the red barn that marked the 25 minute mark. They were almost at Gram's and the silence in the car was choking him.

For the umpteenth time, he bit back a sigh. It still tore his heart in two to remember how Mac had looked when he'd first gone to her apartment last night. Tear trails on her face, sad even in her sleep. It had almost brought him to his knees.

He'd had no idea she'd reacted so strongly to his decision to resign. She hadn't said anything to him, and that had hurt. And then, when she had started talking to him both before and after he'd thrust himself beyond the point of reason and – of all things, he didn't know if he could forgive himself this – had actually starting packing his stuff to leave her ... when she'd spoken then, it had added a whole new level to what it meant to hurt.

She had been brutally honest with him. He hadn't known she felt that way, he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Although he could understand that her difficult childhood, neglectful parents would lead her to believe such a thing.

He promised himself, made a vow, that he would not leave her, not like that, in the middle of an argument with both their tempers flying high. He kept repeating Gram's nugget of wisdom to himself: _that kind of hurt doesn't go away without a lot of love._

Right now, though, he wasn't quite sure how to bridge the gap that had formed between them last night. He guessed she was still embarrassed by her behaviour, just as he was by his.

They'd both been a little tentative around the other in the morning, and they still were being so. The aftertaste of their fight glaring in the unforgiving light of day; things said in darkness seeping into the sunlight. It was like they didn't know how to be around each other, how to handle the depth of her hurt and his anger.

Harm bit back yet another sigh. How could he prove to her that she deserved every happiness in the world, and he was the one who could give her that?

--

Mac stared out the window, trying to think of something to say to somehow break the silence they seemed to be sinking into since the morning. But her thoughts kept drifting from what to say to ... other things. Like baby Sarah. Mac had visited her namesake quite a bit in the last month. She thought Harriet and Bud very brave to bring a life into the world. It was such a big responsibility. And between her and Harm, both with their ... issues, she wondered if they were suited for this kind of thing.

She bit back a sigh. Harm was obviously equally besotted by Sarah. The fourth Sarah he knew, and the only one he called princess. Mac thought it all very endearing. But being head over heels for your goddaughter was quite different from birthing a baby and raising a child and somehow making sure the world didn't eat the kid up whole and spit the poor thing back out in some unrecognizable, hardened form.

Mac shook herself out of her thoughts. This much introspection could not be healthy. She should talk to Harm, she knew. She just wasn't sure how to.

"Mac," He said suddenly. She turned to look at him. "You said you were terrified of the marriage thing. That's still the case, isn't it?"

Of all the questions to ask her...

Mac twisted her hands in her lap. She thought she was on her way to moving beyond that, but the last 24 hours just slammed it all back into focus. "I don't know what it is, Harm. I know it's not ... sensible. But I can't help it."

"Sure you can," He countered immediately. "You're letting your insecurities get the best of you. You keep worrying about how things will go wrong, and you're not seeing how right everything is going."

She stared out the window, unseeing. How could she explain it when she didn't understand it?

"I wouldn't smother you." He said.

"What?" She looked at him in surprise. "I know that."

"I wouldn't force you to do anything you didn't want to."

"Harm!" She exclaimed, well on her way to appalled. She couldn't even put Harm and such an idea in the same thought. "Stop it. I know you wouldn't."

He said nothing. Mac closed her eyes, and leaned back against the headrest, counting seconds and listening to the silence.

"I know what's worrying you," He said quietly.

Mac opened her eyes to look at him.

"You don't trust me to stick around for you." He wasn't looking at her. She watched his grip tighten around the steering wheel. "I thought we'd talked about this."

They did talk about it. He'd promised he wouldn't leave, and then he'd resigned his commission without telling her about it. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she said nothing.

The seconds ticked by, and Mac realized he was waiting for her to say something. "I guess one talk wasn't enough," She put in a concerted effort to keep her tone even.

"Mac," He started, and then stopped. Then said, "I'm sorry. About last night. I shouldn't have—"

"Harm—" She interrupted. She wasn't looking for an apology. They'd done that already.

"Mac, wait." He put his hand over hers, holding it tightly. "Just let me say this. We need to talk about it."

She nodded, and kept her silence, even though she'd rather just open the car door, tuck and roll.

"I shouldn't have tried to leave like that." He told her, eyes moving from the road to her, and back. "And I should have talked to you about Sergei. I wasn't thinking straight, and I'm sorry for that. You asked me what you could do to make this last: you can trust me. It's all I ask. But it also works both ways. I mean, you're right: marriage is more than just a promise of a life together. It should be more. So I promise to talk with you, that we'll make the big decisions together. I guess I'm just not used to doing that. It's no excuse, Mac, and it won't happen again."

She stared at him, surprised by his words, humbled by his ... maturity. He really had grown in the past year. She remembered the conversation they had in La Jolla, where he'd said he wanted to be good for her. He kept amazing her. "Harm..."

"I'll work on that," He continued, cutting in gently, "And you work on trusting that we have something strong here, between us. And, Mac," He looked at her, making sure he had her attention. "Please don't forget that Gram, Mom and Frank are your family, too. That's part of the deal."

Mac stared at him; she really had to start getting used to this – all these people, strangers to her at the turn of the year who were now calling her family. And she was overwhelmed by Harm's response to what she knew were her mostly irrational fears. She couldn't quite process it, couldn't fight the feeling that this was more than she was worth, that they'd look at her one day and uncover her for a fraud.

"You'll have to deal with Gram stuffing you to the gills and giving lectures," He grinned, obviously trying to lighten the mood, "With Mom prying into your personal life, and with Frank giving you stock tips."

"It sounds like a good deal to me," She could only smile at the picture he painted, knowing they all acted that way out of love. Maybe that was the hardest part for her to grasp.

"I am working at being more open with you," She told him, looking out the window. "It's just not easy."

"A wise woman once told me the good things in life have to be earned."

"Gram?" Mac asked, mulling over the truth of that. The things worth having, she'd had to work for. Why should she see this as any different? In fact, approaching this as a mission seemed the most comforting way to do it.

"Mom, actually. Gram threatened to come after me with her rolling pin if I didn't do right by you."

Mac laughed heartily, "Oh, I can just picture that! She could take you, too."

"I don't doubt it," He agreed.

They held hands, again lapsing into silence, while Mac gave Harm's earlier question some thought. It was about time she did. She could face anything, she thought, if she set her mind to it. Why not this.

"I like the idea of a beach wedding," She said to him. "Do you want to do it in La Jolla, or find a beach around here? Virginia? We could aim for early June. Or mid-May even."

He started, looking at her with wide eyes, his smile lit up the car. He was visibly excited. "You're ready to pick dates? You want a beach wedding, too?!"

His reaction made Mac feel terrible for putting all this off for so long, for doubting the entire thing, that Harm wanted it, that she could have it. But instead of dwelling on that now, she nodded, smiling in response to his excitement.

"Great!" He enthused, "La Jolla is far, though, and we'd want Harriet and Bud there, right?"

Mac nodded again, "The admiral, and Chloe, too. It would be easier for her to fly here, than to California."

"What was Chloe's reaction when you told her?" Harm glanced at her, grinning. "I would've paid money to be a fly on that wall." He laughed. "Then again, she'll probably launch into an instant replay when she comes to visit."

Mac looked away. "I haven't ... I mean, I—"

"You didn't tell her?" All his previous good humour fled. He let go of her hand, returning both of his to the steering wheel.

How could she explain that she just couldn't bring herself to do it? Chloe would've been incredibly excited, and added to the buzz of near-euphoria that Harriet and the admiral, hell the entire JAG office was projecting – except Singer, admittedly –, Mac had felt wholly inadequate. And she hadn't been able to say it out loud. She hadn't even opened the letter Uncle Matt had sent her in reply to the one she'd posted announcing their engagement.

"I'll call her from Gram's." She offered.

He didn't say anything, and his silence made her feel steadily worse about how she'd been handling this whole thing.

"I'm sorry, Harm."

"Please stop apologizing." He said tersely, his tone full of hurt.

"You know it isn't because of you." She sighed. "I think that if it had been anyone other than you, it might have been easier to pretend this was all easy, and I was ... excited."

"How the hell does that equate to it having nothing to do with me?" He protested, his anger rising.

"You aren't listening." She put a hand on his arm. "What I mean is that you are too important to me, for me to screw this up."

"Stop saying that. You won't screw up. I won't let you." He said stubbornly. "You can have all the doubts you want, Mac. Just talk to me instead of saying you'll screw it up, and we can work through them." He was getting quite worked up, she could tell. Right to the point where his mouth was getting ahead of the rest of him. "And you should know this now: it's a done deal as far as I'm concerned. If I have to tie you to the altar on our wedding day, I will. Because we are getting married." He declared.

Her initial reaction to his statement was amusement. The idea of Harm tying her to the altar ... She was quick to sober, however, at his deadly serious expression.

"It won't come to that, Harm." She forced herself to forge ahead. "I don't think I've wanted anything more than to marry you. That's ... that's what scares me." She tried to shrug off her discomfort. She had honestly never felt more vulnerable than she felt right now with Harm. Exposed and naked and other things she didn't allow herself to feel in front of anyone.

"I think I understand that. I'm trying to." He captured her hand and kissed her palm. His tone was soft when he spoke, his eyes filled with a familiar warmth, like summer sunshine. "Thank you for talking to me about it."

She felt tears well, and quickly blinked them back. Harriet was right: this was all way too emotional. She had to stop getting all teary-eyed.

"You're right, though," She said, ready to move this along. "We should start on planning the wedding."

"Alright," He gave her a smile that stemmed straight from his heart. "We can start making calls and figuring it all out we get back to DC," He said, her hand still resting against his lips. His eyes twinkled. "I can't wait, Mac."

--

Rabb Farm  
That evening  
2008 Local

Mac sat in the kitchen, waiting for Chloe to pick up the phone. And trying not to think of the conversation Harm was having with Gram at the moment right in the room next door.

"Hello?"

"Merry Christmas Eve, Chlo!" Mac exclaimed, the sound of Chloe's voice bringing an automatic smile to her face.

"Mac!" Chloe replied excitedly. "Hi!"

"How are you, kid? How is it spending Christmas with your dad?"

"It's great! He came in two days ago and he's on leave until the 3rd of January and we went horse riding in the snow and then we skated and Grandma made us hot chocolate and then she made dad chop wood and it's the best Christmas ever!"

Mac laughed at Chloe's exuberance. "Take a breath, Chloe!" She exclaimed, and then braced herself. "I called because I have some good news."

"Oh my god!" She squealed. "You're calling from outside the front door and you're going to surprise me for Christmas?!"

"Well, no." Mac said, shaking her head at Chloe's overactive imagination. "But that's a ... good guess. Actually," Mac paused, readying herself. "Harm and I are getting married."

The only response Mac got was a loud thud followed by a shrill scream.

"Chloe?" No response, but that shrill scream just went on and on.

Mac tried again: "Chloe, sweetie—" Mac stopped when she heard more thumping. "Chloe, what is going on?" She heard Chloe scrambling, and figured she must've dropped the phone.

"Mac!" She yelped into the receiver. "This is amazing! Wait until I tell everyone! I am so excited! How did he propose? It was skywriting, wasn't it! I bet he wrote it in the sky right outside your apartment! Oh my god, that is so romantic!" She was talking a mile-a-minute, but Mac had to laugh at the fanciful notions the kid was coming up with.

"Wait! No!" Chloe interrupted herself with overflowing glee, "I know! He brought a marching band with him to JAG and he had them play while he got on one knee in the middle of the bullpen! Or did he—"

"Chloe! Take a breath!" Mac ordered, laughing. She waited as Chloe did exactly that.

"Okay, I'm totally cool, I promise! Please tell me how he proposed," Chloe begged. "I knew you'd marry him! You guys were so into each other, I could tell!"

"Chloe," Mac warned.

"Okay, totally cool starting now." Chloe stated in a serious voice, and then followed up with a squeal, "Please tell me!"

Mac laughed. "Well, he had this giant cake delivered to JAG – it was almost as tall as me – and when the delivery guy put it in front of my office door, he popped out from inside the cake and asked me to marry him."

There was a very long, and very loud pause on the other end. It was all Mac could do not to burst into laughter picturing the look on Chloe's face.

"He popped out of ... a ... a cake?" She asked, her tone more quiet than Mac was used to hearing from her little sister.

Mac couldn't hold it in any longer. She laughed so hard her sides hurt and tears fell from her eyes. "Oh, Chloe, I can just picture the look on your face."

"So he didn't pop out of a cake?" She clarified, confused, which doubled up Mac's laughter.

"No, Sweetie, he just asked," She replied, wiping her eyes. "He had a very sweet speech."

"Oh," Chloe said, sounding mildly disappointed. Mac grinned. One day, this little girl would learn that love was so much more than grandiose acts. It was blinding light and glowing embers, an always unexpected surprise and an everyday wonder. It was, Mac realized, what she saw every time she looked at Harm, what she heard every time he spoke to her, what she felt every time they touched.

And she would be the greatest kind of fool to let her fears get in the way of something she knew no one deserved but everyone was worthy of. Even her. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

"Are you happy, Mac?" Chloe asked.

"I have never been happier, Chloe." She answered from the heart.

"Do you have a ring?!" Chloe suddenly said with renewed vigour. "Oh my god! I bet it's gorgeous! I bet he went to the deepest, darkest jungle and had to climb right to the bottom of a volcano to find hidden jewels! No! Wait! I bet he found it on the Titanic, in one of the safes onboard!"

Mac could only laugh.

--

_At the same time..._

"Gram," Harm began as he sat on the couch next to her. "I'm sorry about how I behaved over the phone with you."

"Harmon, you have nothing to apologize for."

They both sat silently for a long moment, staring into the steadily burning fire in the hearth. Harm thought of Mac, and how her not talking to him upset him no end. He decided to be the first to jump in here.

"I don't know how I feel about dad and ... I mean, Sergei's a really good guy."

"You've kept in touch with him?" She asked, surprised.

"Yeah," He nodded, "Weekly phone calls so I can keep tabs on him. He's in the army – I might have mentioned that – a helicopter pilot." He decided to leave out the part about Sergei being imprisoned.

"Will he be coming here, then?" Her voice was shaking, he could hear it even though he knew she was trying to hide it.

"I wanted him to, but he refused. Now he likely won't get the time to come – at least to visit – for a while because of his duties."

Gram nodded. "You said you don't know how to feel." She put her hand over his. "But what are you feeling?"

"Disappointment, mostly." Harm took a deep breath, and spoke through his discomfort. "And sadness. Sadness for what mom went through."

"Oh my darling boy," Her voice was full of love, "Are you thinking of your parents, or of you and Sarah?"

Harm shifted in his seat. Come on, Hammer, you can do this. "Both. I mean, I don't really know who dad was." He hadn't told his grandmother about Jenny Lake, nor was he about to. Based on what Ms. Lake and told him, and what he'd learned in Russia, he sensed his father had as much of a hero complex as Mac accused him of having. Thing is, he would not make a move on or shack up with a woman because of it. After all, Mac was not the hero-seeking kind and he was crazy about her beyond the point of distraction, beyond anything he could rationalize. What he'd told her was the full truth: he couldn't do this – life, living, being – without her.

"He wasn't perfect, Harm, but he was a decent person. He had a big heart, was idealistic, starry-eyed. You remind me of him."

Harm shut his eyes, and shook his head. He didn't want to hear that anymore.

"Harm, child, what is it." She rubbed her hand over his arm.

"I don't want to be like him, not in that way. I mean, I would not leave Mac behind ... I wouldn't forget about her. How could I?"

Gram pulled Harm into a tight hug, and he felt like a kid again. Which brought tears to his eyes, "I don't think he forgot about you."

She was pulling hairs, he thought. "Fine, then. I don't want to give up like he did. I wouldn't. I would come back." Or die trying.

"Let's hope no situation you are ever in comes to that," She comforted. "And your father was only in his twenties when his plane went down. You've matured more than your father had the time to in his relationship with your mother."

That was true, he thought, and it made him feel a little better. Hell, lots better. He may look like his dad, but it was up to him how he acted, what he did. He let himself enjoy his grandmother's embrace for a while, breathing in deeply, before biting the bullet. He pulled back and looked at her.

"And what are you feeling?"

She looked like she was about to clam up, so Harm took the dive hoping she wouldn't disown him for pushing.

"I shared with you, Gram." He pointed out.

She looked like she was about to ream him a new one, but then she sighed. After a moment, she said, "I know what your mother went through, what you went through, and the idea that he started a family there, and it might have been why he wasn't trying to come back," She sighed again. "It brings back a very difficult time in our lives."

Harm listened in silence, not knowing what to say.

"You know, Harm, your mother went through such a difficult time. And you – until Sarah," She pointed to the kitchen where they could hear Mac talking on the phone with Chloe, "You were ... always so tightly wound, focused. Even in your most carefree moments, a part of you was always coiled up. I hate that you had to go through that, and I know how big a part of you thought you had to find your father and bring him back. To hear that he..." She trailed off as she began to cry softly. "I am just upset over that. And I'm trying to forgive your father for it. For letting you down."

"I'm sorry, Gram. I'm okay, I promise. And Mom's okay." He soothed, drawing Gram into a hug. "Please don't be upset."

He'd never seen her cry before, and it was enough for his own tears to fall.

"I'm okay," He whispered again. "I promise. I'm not holding it against him."

"You are, Harm. I don't want you to, but I know you."

He didn't answer, and he didn't think she expected him to. They both knew he needed to give it time.

Gram collected herself, wiping her tears away. "Tell me about him, about Sergei."

Harm studied her, making sure she actually wanted to know. "He looks a bit like dad. His eyes, mostly. And his smile. Or at least, that's what Mac thinks about his smile."

"Mac has met him?" Her eyebrows inched up in surprise.

"She was in Russia when we met. So, yes."

"She's been with you through many things." A soft glow lit Gram's eyes, and Harm recognized it as affection for his marine.

Harm grinned, but then his conversation with Mac from the car caught up with him. He sighed, remembering his resolve to tie her to the altar. "And she'll be with me for many more to come, if I have a say."

"What do you mean?" She seemed worried.

Harm realized just how badly he needed to talk to someone, to Gram, about Mac's cold feet.

"Mac is ... I mean, she has..." He didn't know how to say this.

"What, Harm?"

"She has all these doubts ... about getting married."

Gram frowned. "That's normal, I would think."

He looked at her in shock, not expecting that. "What do you mean it's normal?" He was getting very offended at the thought. "How could it be normal?!" He hadn't given Mac reason to doubt.

"Not because of you, Harm." She placated, "I imagine her experience with marriage is limited, and mostly negative. She grew up in an abusive home with a alcoholic parent. Her mother left her at such an age. Think of your mom, Harm, and Frank and me. No matter what you could possibly do, you know we wouldn't love you any less, we would always be there for you."

He thought of his mom's unconditional faith in him during that first horrible fight with Mac. He thought of Frank's easy acceptance, forgiveness for his terrible behaviour during his younger years. He thought of how he'd come to Gram after his ramp strike, to recover from the loss of his dreams, how he'd grieved by being an ogre.

"She said as much," Harm conceded, "I mean, about not really believing marriage could be a good thing."

"Then it says a lot, doesn't it, that she's still so excited about marrying you, that she wants it so much?"

Harm looked at his grandmother. How would she know that Mac was excited? She'd practically repeated verbatim what Mac had told him on the drive over.

"I can see it in her eyes, Harm, even as she's afraid of it." Gram said gently, "And the fact that she positively glows whenever you smile at her."

Harm grinned. He did do that to her, he thought cockily. She had even said he was the best parts of her. The best parts of Sarah MacKenzie. Fiery, strong and smart, mischievous – when she let herself be herself –, gorgeous Sarah MacKenzie. His grin widened.

Gram laughed at his reaction. "It's normal she has doubts, Harm. But if I've learned anything about Sarah since I've met her: she would never let herself hurt you, and she is a fighter. It takes a special kind of strength to overcome oneself, I think."

Harm nodded, processing what Gram was telling him. "So, what can I do?"

"I think you're doing just fine. Just keep making her happy like you're doing." She gave Harm a warm look. "You make me very proud, child. I couldn't have asked for a better granddaughter if I'd picked her myself. You've grown into such a fine young man."

"Thank, Gram." He replied, returning her smile. "You know, she's the best friend I've ever had." He rubbed his hand behind his neck, sometimes still not able to believe his good fortune. "I don't think I knew what being happy meant until I met her."

"I know, dear." She caressed his face, her own lit with joy. "I think she feels the same way. But you have to give her room to grow into it."

That, Harm thought, was easier said than done. Then again, he was good for her, she'd told him so herself. He'd just have to make sure it stayed that way. He sighed. Which meant he would have to loosen his grip where Mac was concerned. It was terrifying, letting go of that control. But if that was what it took for her to see his faith in her, then he could do it. He could try.

Speaking of Mac...

"Let me get her," Harm said, a sudden good mood wrapping itself around him. He was doing things right, and there wasn't much more he could ask for. "And then we can make S'mores on the fireplace."

Gram laughed. "Like when you were a boy."

Harm nodded, grinning. "This is going to be a great Christmas, Gram. We'll make it the best one we've had in years," He promised. "For all of us."

He kissed his grandmother on the cheek and headed to the kitchen. Mac was seated at the table, staring into space, a soft smile on her face. His good mood increased by about seven notches.

"Hey, beautiful," He pulled her out of her chair and spun her around. She laughed with uninhibited happiness, her arms looping around his neck. She studied him as they danced.

"You had a good talk?" She asked, her fingers softly tracing his features.

"Great talk," He replied, grinning. "How was the chat with Chloe?" He asked, dipping her and pulling her back flush against him. She giggled in surprise.

"Great," She got that dreamy look on her face again as she stared into his eyes. His good mood went upon another sixteen notches. And then he saw the spark of humour dancing in their brown depths. "She's now telling her grandparents and her dad that you traveled to the deepest, darkest jungle to find a diamond that matched my worth, and then proposed in JAG with a marching band."

Harm laughed heartily. How very Chloe. He watched Mac as they danced, her smile lighting all the dark corners. Not that he could see as many as he used to since she came into his life.

"There's no jungle deep enough or dark enough I wouldn't travel through for you." He kissed her forehead, his words whispered against her skin, "No jewel I could ever find that is worthy of you." He looked her in the eye. "I love you, French fry."

She tightened her hold on him, fingers weaving through his hair. "I love you, Harm," She sighed, swaying in rhythm with his body, resting her forehead against his. "I can't wait to marry you," She whispered.

It was the first time she'd said it with such meaning since the morning after he'd proposed. He was pretty sure his heart was floating somewhere along the rings of Saturn. He didn't even have words to say what he was feeling. So he just held her, and they danced to their own improvised tune.

"Thank you, Harm." She whispered. "This is the best Christmas yet."

"You think that now," He grinned. "Wait until we make S'mores over the fireplace and decorate the tree. Gram even made you your very own ornament."

Mac's face transformed into a mask of surprise as she looked up at him. "I get my own ornament?"

"Yep, everyone in the family does. Mine's a Tomcat. Had it since I was four." Harm was barely able to wait until she actually saw hers. Gram had made her a hanging angel, her robes painted in marine green camouflage print, holding a giant cookie.

"And we have to hang up your stocking," He informed her. Mac looked slightly overwhelmed, so he added. "I meant it Mac, about my family being yours. The good and the bad, for better or worse." He leaned down and kissed that overwhelmed look right off her face. She was right about one thing: this was the best Christmas yet.

"C'mon, French fry." With a final kiss, he released her and set about digging through Gram's cupboards, figuring they'd had enough loaded moments for one night. "Let's get the fixings for some S'mores. Gram is waiting." He gave her an excited grin.

She returned his smile, grinning merrily as she watched him rummage around for the marshmallows. She stepped up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. "Definitely." She agreed. "It's time to get to the good stuff."

--

The end (only for now though. I'm sure you'll agree that happy endings are always works in progress...)


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